

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 


Shelf 


UNITED STATES OP AMERICA 















I 










m 


' • • i 


\0 


• ; ' ' 

- * A 


/ 

- > 


•W 



: y 


, v3>i >. o ■ ■ 


^ ' "U- - - v. t 




r.: t,*p: 





U. 





.V 


. .t 

<v- 

^ •-‘^ • ♦ 


.• I 


r ' 
<- 


•»: ». 


V 

/ 4 




>1 « 


V* 


. .. 

^ >* 




fC 


'< i '•> 


t 

> -V" 

► -fc 




< , 


I ; 


^ / 




. ♦ . 




4 • 




. w 




?•> “ . • •'■^ : t 

' > •* 




‘vfl 

'5 





!- 




A 


4 ,r 

• f ^ 


f * 




i- ^ 


S 


ft y 


■\^ ft 


ft ^ 




•. *i T9 


fTJ 


"” ' - ' .V 


>' 


k' 4i 


- V 




.* * • 

*4 * ^ 


•i> 

#j*.-r- » . ■* 


4 • 




j^" 



.^W- 

m'4' 




*■ o > 

• ' t 'A ” • • 

.-- ■ - - ■^. ^*"".x *" ‘ A' ^ 

' - . ^ • : f' ■ ‘ > 


' ' w^- JS-W ’ ' ‘ " 

V v:<y • - •■ T 


% 


4 

'% 


r ' • ^ ^ '* '. *‘ 

- w -^ .^■. ' 


« 


£ • 






•s \ 






. A *•< ♦ 

.-♦- * ' 

• A 


A 


f . 


.. » ♦ 


» V 


♦ r 


V . » 



■A 

• •» 


'S 


• t 

. “ A 




• • f 


•^14 

^ I 


•• » 


?: .- 


ftt 


^ -V 

X v-V 


V','^ > - - 4 

• ■ ‘N- 

'. - f ' * 

t~ ir. .^"iC.'ji^ •— - 

i r ■! 



• « 

• » 


i ♦. 


' ’•*‘M ■ '• . - 

r ' •- ■• ' •*.' ‘' 


‘ # 
• •<•■ r 


vv;.^ 


- • - , #J. ‘ 


■■:. :-T; 


V 



;'‘'*4>‘- ■' 

'•*• <•*' >>■ : * 

/-* - ’V' J ' 

• * ’ .^v:, *♦ . • -.♦./* 

• « %# '• fti. * I 

• • • *•■••• 

ijiv* ^ 

... • *'* • ■ ^- • 




S, ' • 

w 

<• 


y^ 5f^ V ' • 


4V 



% X 
#- 


• k 




>• 


« •- .X 

ft 




J* ’ 


- I 


■>. 


>*.v 


» •- 


r ft ‘ 







• ' . . ' ' ■» y '■* ' 

S4*. v. - ■ • ' 

vxa r. 


. *: 

X V 




•*“•*.' '4.'' 


2 - ~ 

;* ' 

• i 


.r 


\- 

• ^ 


J 


• • ^ ^ I-* A 


. • V /-.• 4- ^ -SA 5 ; • 

^ fti.'lvr’' ' ,\ u‘'‘f’.r'' 

• . / - V ' * 

< ^ - •'^ 


./ • • > 


■ ‘ -;■; 

T% ^ - 




f • 


.4 


V 


•V 







■V . ^ »# 


U- 

P"'' 


ft .• 


# 

•» ’ V ‘ . *•* 

V 


i 


f 



i f 


» • 


ift 

•4 


V 

*' 




U< 


% ♦ 




V» - 


^ 

< ^ 


« 






' m 9 ' ^ $ \' ' • _ •• 




:> 


^ « 


}i 

I 




V, 



i 


< 

f. { ' 


-'. > _• 

f 

» 

X 


«• >• 


%^' 't^ 




< . 


" ' ^ r 

^ • w* 

► . 


■>*: V 




• .iT 


? ' ■ 


•‘^ •’^ V. . * 

# ". . T * • • * 

^<C > ' \ . 




- ■ 

I %/ • \ 

•• *-(Av,^ 

V • • '^ 

-:, .r> I 


» • 

\ 


I 


^ ' 

I ^ • • 

V ** 


..V-' 




vj 


^ •• 


1 < 


V • ' < 


w - 




■ 

V v-. 


.4 •■ 


V-- 


%• ^w' i i ^ • • 

1 • > " f , iV 9 -w ^ #« . 

vlA-i. ■'• ', . 


«.• ^ % 
■ 

:*• 


W-^' 

♦<' ^ • • -. ' TL% 


V . 


i *• 


/• 


• # 


I. 


:!'V^ i 

f.-/# 

'41. ^ 


M:. ;'?:>. 

'.Vip- ■ ■ ^-'-^'v -.’'' 


\ 


• % 


: ^ w 




,i 


4 • 9 

.;. r.--* ■ 


• I ' 


•r.*- i 


. /.V . 


' ^ • r* 

f" % *• > 

'N 



\ t 


‘ .r 


4 ^ • , . • \ I ♦ •\ 


r 

• 9 \ 




v> ~J^ • * »■•'-• 




4* • 


•. ' 


A ■ •■ 1 L^ . , 




i' ^ 


.vv 

KMi/ ^ / 


A 



^•sl ^ . 


; ./-V . if 






*' ‘ '5/' 

. \ 

y^' ■ V 




\f ^ 


M 


^ 

»• 


^.' V- 'A ^ Ifr. 

■■ 






- ■ ' ■■ 

' - V vv 

* . *: .rfi; 

•• V.- V- •-^. 

^V f ' 


ft.- 


\ f 



A 

''i '’ . *■ 



JB' . 

-• * A' '^' 

’.*5Vv 


> 

* ' • 

a 

^,v • > 





>Wi V • V 






2^-, ' ■ 


t 


Vt 


V • 


i f 




v’ n. . 


"V;V 


• •»- # . ^ 

../■ 




^v 


V 




X 




N. V • 

V ^ 

• #» 


Oi"? ■■ 


^ V 


. ^ 


/ 


; 


r-W, ' ; 


, % 



•‘ 


"I.. ^ 


<rf^ 


i • ^ 
V 


4 




• * « 


I 

• 


,V 




i:; 





\ » 







« ' « 


. 4 


.. 


l^- . v> 




. '4 ^ 


A' •' 


I 

A •« 


>, . 


•c ^- •=> 

* ^ M ^ 9 


•Wir-1 




4v^, 


V- - '< ■ 

^ ^ .• /•« •’* 


• f 


^ • 


9 


r>. : 




\‘ 

.X 




H » 

4 




- * '■ • 
S ^ - «• 


y 


1 




/ T • 

• r • • . J • • '• 

* -> !•* 


.5 T 


V 

4 


^ ^ V W r.A^ V ' . 


» A m ^ » * *. X 

4 A • • V 

t rr Y.^ s - 


' .•■ ■' ' >.r- ■;' • 


,Xi ' 

• y "• * • A k 


t • 


/ • • 

/ 


' ^>. '' 


< ■ ^ 


9 % 




f • 


« $ 


^ • 


<• 


-.f .r.. . 


■»-'.7j:-'Vv^ 


4 

v< ’• 


\ 

p 

p f ^ 





VIVIER 


OF VIVIER, LONGMAN & COMPANY 

. BANKERS 


A NOVEL 



W. C. HUDSON 

M 

(BA UCLA y NORTH) 

AUTHOR OF “THE DIAMOND BUTTON: WHOSE WAS IT?” “JACK 
GORDON, KNIGHT ERRANT, GOTHAM, 1 883,” ETC., ETC. 



/ 




II (a 


I 


‘^ASHINGf^ 

NEW YORK 

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

104 & 106 Fourth Avenue 


Copyright, 

1890, 

By O. M, DUNHAM. 


All rights reserved. 


PREFATORY NOTE. 


T he mentor who sits in judgment upon everything 
this writer does, remarks severely that the character 
of James Vivier, the banker, and Harry Molleson are 
untrue and therefore inartistic. 

Whether or not they are inartistic I shall not attempt 
to affirm or deny. But that they are untrue I do deny. 
James Vivier walks the streets of New York to-day, 
wielding a vast influence, respected and feared. If not 
at the head of a banking house, he is of an institution, 
where his power is great, and widely felt. A few who 
may read these pages will recognize him, perhaps he 
will recognize himself, and neither he, nor they will 
say the picture attempted is untrue. 

The last time I saw Molleson was when, most fashion- 
ably clad, he darted from the porch of the Hoffman 
House, and grasping by the arm a passer-by who, so far 
as appearances go, might have been Mr. James Vivier, 
hurriedly rushed him across the street to the railing 
surrounding the Worth monument, where he talked 
vigorously and threateningly. When he died, as he did 
a few years later, the press of the city told in a full 
column how dangerous a man he was. Alive everybody 
feared him and none trusted him. His name was as 
classical as his acts were barbarous. 

James Vivier and Harry Molleson may be inartistic, 
but they are true, true to New York of the present 
decade. W. C. H. 


I 


i 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 

I. 

Father and Son, .... 

I 

II. 

Stanley Lysaght, Artist, 

8 

III. 

A Wood Nymph, . . . . 

. 15 

IV. 

Precipitate Love Making, 

26 

V. 

Abroad for News, . . 

. 31 

VI. 

Mr. Henry Molleson, 

40 

VII. 

Mr. Molleson’s Activity, . 

. 49 

VIII. 

Happenings of Moment, . 

56 

IX. 

A Conspiracy, .... 

. . . 67 

X. 

Molleson’s Decisive Step, 

. . . 76 

XI. 

Tangled Threads, 

. . 86 

XII. 

Unexpected Assistance, . 

97 

XIII. 

Fashionable Mrs. Crewe, . 

. 104 

XIV. 

The Journey to Albany, 

113 

XV. 

A Critical Situation, . 

. 119 

XVI. 

Ned’s Discovery, 

126 

XVII. 

Light in Dark Places, 

. 131 

XVIII. 

The Banker’s Counter-plot, . 

. . . 142 

XIX. 

Wise as a Serpent, 

. 151 

XX. 

The Banker’s Strange Move, 

. . . 158 

XXI. 

Hide and Seek, . . . 

. 168 

XXII. 

Narrowing the Limits, . 

177 

XXIII. 

Mrs. Newton to the Rescue, . 

. . . 184 


iii 


4 


iv 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 

XXIV. 

Setting the Wedding Day, 

. 194 

XXV. 

A Plot Detected, 

202 

XXVI. 

Ned’s Victory, 


XXVII. 

Mrs. Humphrey’s Search, . 

217 

XXVIII. 

Inspecting the Diary, . 

. 228 

XXIX. 

Suspicious Compliance, . 

237 

XXX. 

Molleson is Shocked, 

243 

XXXI. 

The Odd Trick, .... 

255 

XXXII. 

Magnificent Audacity, . 

. 266 

XXXIII. 

Toppling Fair Schemes, 

274 


VIVIER. 


CHAPTER I. 

FATHER AND SON. 

T he room was one into which the sun had never 
shone. From the large windows which made up 
the' whole of one side, the prospect was far from attrac- 
tive. The range of vision was limited by a device of 
quicksilvered glass, corrugated, serving three purposes : 
fastened at one end to the window sills and upheld at 
the other by chains, it prevented curious eyes from peer- 
ing in from adjacent windows ; again, it was a con- 
venient receptacle for orange-peel, burned-out cigar 
stumps, and blackened ends of cigarettes thrown from 
above ; finally, and probably the real reason for its 
existence, it reflected a strong white light into the room, 
which would have been glaring and distressing had it 
not been modified by the dark, warm colors of the walls, 
carpet and furniture. 

This room was the private office of Mr. James Vivier, 
senior partner, and master spirit, of the great banking 
firm of Vivier, Longman and Company, one of the 
wealthiest and most powerful houses in the powerful 
world of finance. 

The hour was noon ; the day, a hot one in June, 1887. 
Outside in the street, and indeed in the front office, 
people steamed and fretted in the heat ; in Mr. Vivier's 
room, the air sucked down through the shaft formed by 
the tall buildings which backed upon all sides, blew in 

I 


2 


VIVIER. 


through the open windows, and so cooled the two occu- 
pants that they forgot that the thin red line in the 
thermometer was climbing above the figure ninety. 

The occupants were Mr. James Vivier and his son 
Edmund, whom his father called Ned, as did every one 
else who had the warrant of intimacy. 

The young man, of years not more than twenty-seven, 
was evidently disturbed. Sitting upon the stuffed arm 
of a large mahogany office chair covered with green 
leather, one foot on the floor, and the other swinging so 
that it struck the cane he held in his hand as it made 
the forward movement, his face bore an expression of 
surprised perplexity. 

The elder man was calm and composed. He occupied 
a similar chair as it was intended to be used, and to all 
appearances seemed to have nothing weightier on his 
mind than an endeavor to reduce to proper subjection 
the refractory end of the wrapper of his cigar. Singu- 
larly unobservant would he be who failed to note that 
this man was not out of the common mold. Tall, broad- 
shouldered, his frame was well filled out, not portly and 
by no means thin. A fine symmetrical head, perhaps 
too flat on top, covered with silver-white hair ; a ruddy 
complexion ; high, broad forehead ; wonderful dark 
eyes, keen, searching, and active, closing and concen- 
trating when endeavoring to penetrate the meaning of 
something before him, opening wide and flashing with 
power as they foreshadowed some remark of the tongue — 
he presented an impressive personality. An observant 
and reflective person would conclude that the square 
jaw, the firm, straight set of the mouth, and high, peaked 
nose, indicated a man who carried his way through to an 
end, despite all obstacles and in defiance of all opposi- 
tion ; that the immobility of the face left his eyes as the 


FATHER AND SON. 


3 


only signals of warning; cruel, cunning, determined, 
remorseless eyes ; that the full lips and dropping jowls 
showed animal propensities duly gratified through a 
long life. 

The young man was an early edition of the father, 
minus the hard, satirical, composed expression and 
manner, plus youth to the handsome person. 

‘‘ It is six years since you finished at Columbia,” said 
the elder Vivier, in that pleasant manner and masterful 
tone he habitually employed. 

“ Seven, if you will permit me to correct you.” 

Ah, seven is it ? Since then you have been practi- 
cally your own master ? ” 

By your kindness.” 

“ No restraints have been placed upon you ?” 

“ None.” 

“ No obligations have been imposed upon you ?” 

“ None whatever.” 

“ Your allowance has been most liberal, promptly 
paid, frequently added to unsolicited, and your debts 
asked for at the end of each year and paid without 
complaint ? ” 

“ You have been most liberal,” replied the young man 
heartily. 

“And I believe during all this time no favor until 
now has been asked you in return ? ” 

“ To my great regret, since by prompt acquiescence 
I could have shown how sensible I was of your extreme 
kindness.” 

“ Yet now, when I ask you to marry the one I have 
selected for you, you refuse — the one favor perhaps in 
all your life.” 

“ Pardon me, father, I did not refuse/' 

“ No ? ” 


4 


VIVIEJR. 


“ I made a tentative objection to having my liberty 
cut short so early in my career.” 

‘‘That is rather neat, Ned. Somewhat subtle in its 
distinction.” 

“ I am sincere, sir. I do not wish to evade the issue 
you present.” 

“ What am I to understand ? You object to marriage 
but do not refuse. Is not that rather contradictory ? 

“J mean this, father. I have not yet exhausted life. 
I ask a little longer liberty.” 

“ I see.” 

“You have not favored me with the name of the 
young lady you destine for the honor of your daughter- 
in-law. Do I know her ? ” 

The dark, cynical eyes of the old gentleman lit up 
momentarily with a passing gleam of humor. 

“I do not think you do, Ned.” 

“ I hope she is all an ardent young man’s fancy might 
paint her ? ” 

The dark eyes lit up again. 

“ I hope you have not grown romantic, my son ?” 

“ No, sir ; I am eminently practical. Still I might be 
pardoned a curiosity as to the character and appearance 
of the woman I am asked to marry.” 

“ You have some preconceived notions as to what 
your wife should be, then ?” 

“ Not very marked ones. I should like her to be 
white, somewhere between seventeen and forty ; able to 
read and write, good looks no objection.” 

This time the old man smiled, and a wonderfully 
illuminating smile it was too. 

“You are not difficult to please,” he replied. “ Well, 
this particular young person is young, refined, accom- 
plished, and beautiful — a lady.” 


FATHER AND SON. 


5 


“ She is rich then ? ” 

“ On the contrary, poor, and an orphan alone in the 
world.” 

The young man bent a puzzled glance upon his father, 
but did not reply. 

The banker reflected a few moments ; rising, he threw 
the cigar he had been smoking into the empty grate, and 
said : 

^‘Well, Ned, while I do not sympathize with your idea 
that marriage necessarily curtails a man’s liberty — ought 
not to, as a matter of fact — still, since you make a point 
of it, I will yield you two years more. You will then be 
twenty-nine and the girl nineteen.” 

He turned full upon his son quickly, as if inspired by 
a sudden thought. 

“ You have not contracted an affection for any young 
person, Ned ? ” 

“ No sir, I am fancy free.” 

“ Well then, with the understanding that you are to 
come to me free to fall in with my plans, this conversa- 
tion is postponed until two years from this date.” 

“ You are as kind as you always are,” replied the son 
in a tone of sincere relief. 

He stood erect and waited for his father to speak again. 

“Do you want any more money, Ned?” asked his 
father, perceiving him waiting. 

- “ No sir ; I have not touched my last quarter’s allow- 
ance yet.” 

“ Really. This economy is alarming.” 

“I’ve sold the yacht.” 

“ And have not taken up a new extravagance, eh ? I 
do not know that I can commend you. Your yacht was 
about the only one of your caprices I received any satis- 
faction from.. I enjoyed a sail with you now and again.” 


6 


VIVIER. 


“ I’ll buy back again. I did not suppose you liked it, 
you grumbled over it so.” 

“ Heavens, boy ! Do you think youngsters only are to 
enjoy themselves. One of the pleasures of old age is to 
grumble, and snub youngsters like yourself.” 

“ I’ll buy back again.” 

“ At an advance, I suppose. Charge it to me 
then. Now, get away. I must earn that you may 
spend.” 

The young man, bidding his father good-morning, 
went out. 

The relations of the father and son were singular. 
Mrs. Vivier was dead. A confirmed invalid for many 
years, when Ned was about sixteen she had died sud- 
denly, an event anticipated for years, but occurring at 
an unexpected moment. 

For two years subsequent the father and son dwelt in 
the old residence in Madison Square. At the time Ned 
was pursuing his course at Columbia. 

At the end of two years an enterprise of large moment, 
the placing of the bonded indebtedness of a trans-conti- 
nental railroad, carried the father to Europe. The con- 
templated absence of four months stretched into fourteen. 
When he returned, such had been the favorable results 
of his negotiations abroad, the affairs of his concern, 
which had been only saved from wreck a year before his 
departure by great energy and good fortune, were placed 
upon a sound and enduring basis. 

In the mean time, Ned had lived under the care of a 
friend of his father. The house had been closed. Re- 
turning to the city the banker had gone to the Union 
League pending the reorganization of his scattered 
household. Here, finding himself entirely comfortable 
without the responsibility and annoyance of housekeep- 


FATHER AND SON. 


7 


ing, he continued, the family mansion remaining closed 
from year to year. 

Ned had in due time graduated and was living as it 
pleased himself. When he was of a proper age his father 
made him a member of his club. Elsewhere Ned saw 
little of him. Once a day he made it a point to call 
upon him if in town. Sometimes they rode, more fre- 
quently dined together. Perhaps thus they saw as much 
of each other as fathers and sons usually do in the great 
busy metropolis. 

The banker seemed to manifest pride in his son, 
though his acquaintances thought little affection was 
mixed with his pride. They heartily condemned the 
liberty of action he gave his son, and what they chose to 
term the injudicious liberality of his allowance. 

Whether it was due to the wisdom of the cour.se pur- 
sued by the elder Vivier, or to the well-balanced nature 
of the younger, the fact was, Ned lived a fairly reputable 
life, not open to the charge of fast going, high immoral- 
ity, or reckless extravagance. The father required 
nothing of the son. The son brought no trouble to the 
father, nor asked for more money than was voluntarily 
given him. Hence there were no disagreements. 

After leaving the banking-house, Ned walked up Wall 
Street to Broadway in an unusually thoughtful mood. 
He was much disturbed over the outcome of the inter- 
view with his father. It was true, he had gained the 
delay he sought, but he had sacrificed everything to 
obtain it. He saw it clearly now. Acquiescence in his 
father’s plans at the end of two years was the price of 
the concession he had obtained. When he so eagerly 
sought delay he did not appreciate where it was leading 
him to. His father had, and by granting a little had 
obtained all. Involved in the acceptance of the delay. 


8 


VIVIER. 


was the implied promise to marry whomsoever his father 
named at the end of two years. He saw no escape from 
the position he was in except through flat refusal and a 
breach of contract. And the worst of it was that the 
situation was one of his own making ; his father had 
simply seized the opportunity he had made and pre- 
sented. He wondered if it was not the appreciation and 
seizure of opportunities which made one man abler and 
more successful than another. He knew his father 
was regarded as a very able man, but he had been dis- 
posed to doubt it, for he had compared himself with his 
father in point of culture, education, and wide reading, 
and had found him wanting. He now saw with great 
self-contempt with what ease he had been entangled, 
how any evasion would place him in the position of one 
who had dishonored his word. 

Troubled, perplexed, and dejected, he could think of 
nothing better than a consultation with his bosom friend 
Stanley Lysaght. Acting upon the impulse he called 
a cab. 


CHAPTER II. 

STANLEY LYSAGHT, ARTIST. 

T his friend was an artist. In their boyhood years 
they had been schoolmates and chums. When Ned 
went to college Stanley went to Europe. While Ned 
pursued the classics, Stanley wooed art. They had 
never forgotten each other, and when, three years pre- 
vious to the opening of this story, Ned had gone abroad, 
they met and for a year lived together in Paris, Stanley 
as an art student, Ned a flaneur. Together they had 
returned to New York, where they were almost insepar- 


STANLEY LYSAGHT, ARTIST. 


9 


able — Stanley as an artist, Ned as a young gentleman of 
leisure and fashion. 

Ned pushed open the door of his friend’s painting 
room with the freedom born of their assured intimacy. 
The artist was at his easel. A beautiful young girl, 
with a sweet, modest face, sat upon a platform, whom 
Ned recognized as a pupil of the artist, and whom the 
latter often utilized as a study. 

It was not the first time he had come upon them thus 
engaged. He had been attracted from the first by her 
modesty and evident refinement, but he had never had 
an opportunity to converse with her. 

What now took place had always occurred when he 
came upon them. After recognizing Ned’s entrance, the 
artist said : 

“ That will do for to-day. Miss Newton.” 

The young girl stepped down from the platform with 
an exclamation of surprise. She wondered what the 
sitting was “ begun for, if it were so soon done for.” 
But without further remark she began to don her bonnet 
and wraps. 

When she was ready for the street an elderly woman, 
who, unobserved by Ned, had been sitting in a corner, 
rose and the two prepared to depart. 

“ Will you want me again, Mr. Lysaght ? ” asked the 
girl, stopping at the door. 

Once more only, 1 think,” replied the artist. 

“ When shall I come, then ? ” 

“ I am going out of town for a few days. When I 
return I’ll send you word.” 

As the door closed on the two, Vivier, who had bowed 
respectfully as they went out, threw himself on a lounge 
with a laugh. 

Lysaght looked up inquiringly. 


lo 


VIVIER. 


“ I am sorry I disturbed you in your work, Stan,” 
said Ned. 

“ What do you mean ? ” queried the artist. 

“ I think you would have painted an hour or two 
longer if I had not come in.” 

“ Oh, I was somewhat tired.” 

“ Be frank, old man,” replied Ned with a laugh. 

“ Why do you always send that pretty girl off when I 
appear \ ” 

The artist rose from his stool and taking a knife 
scraped the paint from his palette. 

“ So you have noticed that, have you ? ” he finally 
asked. 

“ Not being extraordinarily dull of perception, I have.” 

“ She is a pretty girl.” 

“ Unquestionably.” 

“ And a nice girl.” 

“ I have confidence in your judgment.” 

“ And a modest, virtuous girl.” 

“ I accept your statement as fact.” 

“ And an innocent, unsophisticated creature, who 
knows nothing of the wickedness of life.” 

“ And you fear she will be contaminated by coming in 
contact with one whose garments are dripping with the 
filth of that wickedness.” 

“ Oh, nonsense ! ” cried the artist laughing. “ See 
here, Ned, I know you.” 

“ That’s more than I do myself.” 

“You can no more be in a room with a pretty girl 
and not make love to her, than you can breathe and 
refrain from living.” 

“ That’s a fine statement to come from the friend of 
my bosom.” 

“ It is a fact all the same. Perhaps you do not intend 


STANLEY LVSAGHT, ARTIST. ii 

and are not conscious of it ; that it comes out of your 
natural inclination to give pleasure. Now, she is young 
and unsophisticated. You are gallant and fascinating. 
You are already attracted by her beauty ; she is already 
interested in you. You are rich, she is poor. You 
move in tfie upper walks of society, she in the middle 
ranks. What good is to come of an acquaintance ? 
The inevitable would follow ; she would love you. If 
you did not return that love she would be miserable. 
If you did, you wouldn’t, because you couldn’t, marry 
her, and so trouble, misery, heartache, if no worse, would 
result. I am trying to save you both from it all.” 

Ned laughed good-naturedly. 

“ You must be in love, old man,” he said. 

With her? No.” 

“ With some one else, then, for I never heard you 
preach so before. However, your sweet dove is safe 
from me. I have promised my father to keep myself 
free from all heart entanglements for two years.” 

The artist appeared as if he expected him to say 
more. 

“You do not comprehend? !’ asked Vivier. 

“ No. Is your father opposed to marriage ? ” 

“ Upon the contrary, he wants me to marry.” 

“ And yet wants you to be free ? ” 

“I’ll enlighten you,” said Ned, turning himself lazily 
on the lounge. “ Sit down and stop mussing with that 
paint. This is a serious thing — to me at least.” 

Lysaght laid the palette aside, and pulling a chair 
over to his friend sat down. 

Ned recited all that had passed between himself and 
his father that morning. 

When he had finished the artist asked : 

“ Well, what is so serious ? ” 


12 


VIVIER. 


“ I am afraid I have entered into a contract to marry 
at the end of two years.” 

“ Suppose you like the girl and want to marry?” 

“ Then there will be no trouble,” 

“ Suppose you don’t. You will go to your^father and 
say, ‘ The girl does not please me, I don’t want to 
marry ! ’ ” 

“The trouble would then begin.” 

“ He has always given you your way, and probably 
would in this.” 

“ You don’t know the pater." 

“ Do you think he would insist, knowing the marriage 
to be distasteful to you ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly.” 

“ I supposed he was a model of leniency and com- 
placency.” 

“ You are out there. I have been studying that father 
of mine. He is a deep study and a difficult one. His 
proposition of this morning, however new to me, is not 
to him. I do not doubt that it was laid years ago. My 
marriage to this particular girl, whoever she may be, is 
a part of a plan or a scheme he has been nursing for 
years. You have often wondered at his peculiar treat- 
ment of me. I am now satisfied that it was all a part of 
this matter. I shall not hear another word of this for 
two years. Then one day he will say, ‘ Here is the girl, 
marry.’ ” 

Suppose you say you will not ? ” 

“ Do you think I have any capacity for painting pic- 
tures ? ” 

“You? No.” 

“Then I would have to seek some other means of 
livelihood.” 

“He would disinherit you ?” 


STANLEY LYSAGHT, ARTIST. 

“ Promptly.” 

“I cannot believe it.” 

“He would, and without remorse. Why, man, he has 
brought me up to do nothing, to know nothing about 
securing a living, has sedulously encouraged a method of 
life which makes luxuries necessaries to me, and a scale of 
expenditures which would be extravagance in any one but 
a millionaire, in order that when he demanded this thing 
of me, I would see the alternative of compliance or help- 
less poverty. He lays his foundations deep and broad.” 

“ Such a thing would be deliberate and diabolical 
cruelty.” 

“ I shall not contradict you. Such are his methods. 
He counts his money by the millions by reason of his 
employment of them.” 

“ If you knew all this why did you not prepare for it 
years ago ? ” 

“ I fully realized it only this morning.” 

“ Do you mean to say he has no affection for you ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, but a greater affection for his own purpose 
in life. He never yields. He is an oak — he may break, 
but he never bends.” 

“ By Heavens, he may break then ! ” cried the artist, 
springing from his chair excited and indignant. “ I 
would stand upon my right to choose my life-companion.” 

“ And starve ? ” 

“ Yes, by Jove, in the defense of my own manhood.” 

The artist paced up and down the long attic with 
energetic steps. Ned stretched himself at full length on 
his back, remarking : 

“I expected such would be your advice.” 

“ See here, old man,” said the artist, halting before 
the lounge in his rapid walk. “ You have two years 
before you ? ” 


u 


VIVIER. 


“ Yes.” 

“Learn a trade. Take a profession. Buckle down 
to work, and be ready for independence when the storm 
breaks.” 

“ Perhaps I may want to marry the girl when I see 
her, and then the two years’ work will go for nothing.” 

“ Study architecture,” continued the artist enthusias- 
tically, not heeding his friend’s remark. “ I’ll teach you 
drawing.” 

Ned sat upright and replied earnestly : 

“ Keep your finger out of this affair, Stan. My father 
has long arms, and he strikes ruthlessly when he is inter- 
fered with. I’ll hobble along in my own way,” 

“ But will you put yourself in a position to be inde- 
pendent ? ” 

“ Perhaps, — I don’t know. I must think. But let us 
talk about your pretty model. Who is she ? ” 

“ A pupil.” 

“ I know that. But where did you find her, and who 
is she ? ” 

“ Some one, I forget who, brought her here. She had 
just the face for a picture I was beginning. She wanted 
instruction in drawing, and I her face, so we soon struck 
a bargain. Her name is Newton — Ella Newton. That 
was her mother with her. A widow, living near by. 
Don’t think they have any too much of this world’s goods. 
Further than this deponent saith not, principally because 
deponent knoweth not.” 

“ Well, since I’ve spoiled your day, let me ruin it 
wholly by taking you for a drive.” 

“ Not until I have shown you something you have not 
yet seen.” 

The artist took down the canvas upon which he had 
been at work, and lifting another from the corner where 


A WOOD NYMPH, 1$ 

it Stood on the floor with the face turned to*the wall, 
placed it upon the easel. 

“ What a lovely, lovely face ! ” cried Ned enthusiasti- 
astically. “What is it? Evolved from your inner con- 
sciousness ? Or have you found another rare model ?” 

“ Neither. It is the picture of a face I have seen fre- 
quently of late — painted from memory, idealized, how- 
ever. The idea is growing with me that there is a good 
deal of you in it,” 

“ Of me ? You flatter me, if you see anything of me 
in that lovely face.” 

“ Bah. I don’t mean in the loveliness, you donkey. 
Something in the expression — a feature perhaps. I sup- 
pose I have worked something of you in from seeing so 
much of you.” 

“ I’m properly crushed and humiliated ; let us go for 
our drive.” 


CHAPTER III. 

A WOOD NYMPH. 

O pposite the city of Albany almost in a direct line, 
five or six miles from the river, there is a point from 
which the beholder, with his face to the setting sun, may 
survey two thousand square miles of territory. It is the 
summit of a hill at the foot of which lies the little hamlet 
of Bloomingrove. It is a long hill, up which slowly 
climbs a road for more than a mile — a road lined with 
green turf and fringed with elder bush and flaming 
sumach, through fields of grass and waving corn. It is 
a tedious road, but when the summit is gained all 
thought of weariness is lost. Field and forest, rich in 
color and growth, stretch away in close succession over 
this vast expanse. The stately peaks of the Catskills, 


i6 


VIVIER. 


fifty miles away, bound the view on the left. In the far 
distance to the west the noble hills of the Helderbergs 
close in the scene, and upon the right the blue tops of 
the northern mountains are faintly outlined against the 
clouds. From your feet roll away fertile fields, the 
brown plowed ground alternating with green turf, with 
here and there the white houses of the tillers of the soil 
nestling among the trees. In the middle distance the 
Hudson winds its placid way through the lowlands, and 
along its banks trains of cars, like toys in the long 
distance, rush in and out of view. Directly opposite, 
only an incident, a mere detail, in the vast prospect, lies 
the ancient city of Albany, with its brown topped cam- 
panile and towering state-house. 

Face the rising sun and a beautifully diversified scene 
of thrifty and fertile farms is spread out, a rolling 
country stretching away to the famous Berkshire hills. 

All this lies within an hour’s drive of a large city, and 
it is the finest prospect, so situated, in a State rich in 
beautiful scenery. The world knows little of it. Art 
has not found it, and, therefore, has not pictured it. 
Fashion has not set its seal upon it, and the speculative 
inn-keeper has not yet discovered it. There are, indeed, 
thousands of residents of Albany across the river, only 
an hour away, who all their lives have seen the green 
hill-tops from their hot and dusty streets, who have 
never visited the spot, and, therefore, know nothing of 
its joys and beauties. 

Lysaght had stumbled upon it by accident the pre- 
vious summer. On the morning following his conversa- 
tion with Vivier, as told in the last chapter, loaded down 
with sketching paraphernalia, he sought a spot at the 
edge of a wooded field, where, protected by the shade of 
the trees, he could command a view of the scene he had 


A WOOD NYMPH. 


17 


selected for his study. Placing his easel at an eligible 
point and etting his stool in position, he stood for a 
moment to survey the glorious scene. 

“Your lights are not good to-day, there is a haze 
which dims everything.” 

The artist was startled, and looked in the direction of 
the sound of the voice, for its owner. Curled up at 
the bottom of a large tree, the trunk of which nearly 
concealed her person, was a young girl of eighteen, 
perhaps. She was holding a book in her hand, a large 
straw hat lay on the ground on one side, and on the 
other, a huge St. Bernard dog, lazily flopping his tail 
upon the turf in pleased recognition of the new-comer. 

The hair of the young lady was brown, but where the 
patches of the sunlight fell it took on a golden hue. 
Her eyes were violet, her skin fair and white, notwith- 
standing its exposure to the sun. •A gentle smile 
played about her mouth, as she noticed the surprise she 
had caused. 

“ Ah, wood nymph, is that you ? ” said Lysaght. 

“ Yes,” quietly answered the damsel. 

“You must make this spot a favorite resting-place,” 
continued the artist. “ I never see you anywhere else. 
True, I have never penetrated the forest, and thus have 
not seen you in your other haunts.” 

“ In there ? ” she replied, tossing her head in the 
direction of the thick woods, “ Why, I never go in 
there.” 

“ Don’t you,” laughed the artist. “ I thought you 
lived there and only came out on rare occasions.” 

“ No,” said the girl gravely, “ I live down there where 
you see the red barns.” 

“ In a house ? Since when did wood nymphs take to 
living in houses as we poor mortals do ? ” 


i8 


VIVIER. 


The girl bent upon him lovely puzzled eyes, and then 
as she comprehended his meaning she smiled and re- 
plied : 

“ You are pleased to be humorous.” 

“ So you don’t think the lights are good this morn- 
ing,” said Lysaght, ignoring her remark. “ You are 
right ; I cannot paint with this atmosphere.” 

“ The haze has continued for several days.” 

The artist took up his stool and carried it to the tree 
against which she was leaning, and seating himself, said : 

“ I am disappointed. The days I have to spend here 
are few, and I hoped to make substantial progress in 
seizing these wonderful colors.” 

“ But they are not the same on any two days,” the 
girl answered. “The scene never looks the same to me, 
though I have seen it for years.” 

“You come here every day?” he asked. 

“Yes, when it doesn’t rain. I often bring my books 
and stay here all day with old Don.” She leaned for- 
ward and stroked the head of the dog beside her, who 
lifted eyes beaming with affection. “ It is the best place 
on all these hills.” 

“You have chosen with rare good judgment,” replied 
the artist. “ I wandered about here for three days before 
I determined this to be the most commanding point.” 

“ I don’t know when I came to know it ; I have 
tramped over all these hills many times and ruined many 
a gown in going so,” she replied, smiling. 

Lysaght, closely observing her, thought the smile 
which came rarely to her face made it inexpressibly 
lovely. He had met her the summer previous at the 
same place, when, as he expressed it, he had discovered 
the country. After their first meeting she had come 
daily, undeterred by the certainty of meeting him. She 


i 


A WOOD NYMPH. 19 

had engaged in conversation, questioning him fearlessly 
as to his work ; had pleased him with her interest in his 
painting, and amused him with her frank and naive criti- 
cisms and suggestions. When he went back to the city 
he carried recollection of her as the pleasantest memory 
of his three weeks’ stay on the hills. This acquaintance 
so singularly made had been continued after the inter- 
ruption of the winter, when in the late spring he again 
visited the place. Most singular of all, however, during 
all this time they had not learned each other’s names. 
It had occurred to neither to ask. Their communica- 
tions had been frank and innocent, but the artist more 
than once had been troubled with the idea the duty rested 
upon him- of putting an end to their unconventional meet- 
ings. He was deterred by the consideration that he 
would thereby lodge thoughts of improper conduct, 
which had no place with her, and perhaps, also, by the 
confession to himself that he would be loath to forego 
the chance acquaintance. So, without speaking, he per- 
mitted the association to drift along, satisfying his uneasy 
conscience by assuring himself that he would enjoy the 
slice of Arcadia chance had presented, without doing 
aught to disturb its pure character. 

Her innocence, her freshness, the originality of her 
views, the outcome of a narrow life and ignorance of the 
world, were as attractive to him as her beauty, and to 
that his artistic perceptions were keenly alive. 

He idled the hours away with her on this particular 
morning, when suddenly she rose with the remark that 
she heard the dinner horn at her house. He was sur- 
prised to find noon had come. 

“Must I carry all these traps back with me?” he 
asked, gazing ruefully at the various things he had 
brought with him. . 


20 


VIVIER. 


“ No one will disturb them, if you put them beside this 
tree,” said his companion. “ No one ever comes here, 
at least in the summer time.” 

“ Blessed thought ! ” he replied ; “ I have lugged them 
back and forth to the great distress of my shoulders.” 

The next few moments were occupied in gathering his 
articles together under the tree. Having settled them 
safely, he said : 

“Come, we can go now.” 

“ My way is down that path,” she replied, pointing to 
the south. “ You go the other way.” 

“ I will go with you.” 

“ I don’t want you,” bluntly answered the girl. 

“ You don’t leave me in any doubt of that, by em- 
ploying the ambiguities of politeness,” he replied, 
smiling. 

The girl was puzzled. 

“Well,” she said, after a vain endeavor to comprehend 
his meaning, I don’t want you to go with me.” 

“ PWidently,” he replied, “ and I certainly will not. 
Shall I see you to-morrow ? ” 

“Yes, if it does not rain.” 

Au revoir"' 

“ What is that ? ” 

“ A bit of French I should not have used. Until we 
meet again, good-by.” 

“It is not worth while saying good-by, until you go 
home again.” ^ 

“ I stand corrected, my pretty wood nymph, and there- 
fore leave without resort to the hollow forms of polite 
intercourse.” 

He swung his portfolio over his shoulder, and taking 
his canvas under his arm, strode off in the direction of 
the highway. 


A WOOD NYMPH. 


21 


The girl, calling her dog, went down the hill by the 
path she had indicated. 

Lysaght, unable to paint, spent the afternoon at the 
farmhouse he made his home, swinging in the hammock 
under the trees, thinking much of the girl with whom he 
had idled away the morning. 

That evening, when the farmer with whom he was 
boarding had finished his work, and was smoking the 
cigar the painter had beguiled him into accepting, 
Lysaght questioned him. 

“ Who lives in that white house under the trees, the 
house with the red barns?” 

“ Half-way down the hill ? ” asked the farmer. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Elias P. Cooper.” 

Has he much of a family ?” 

None to speak of. He’z got a wife.” 

“ He has a daughter, I think.” 

“ No. Haint got enny children. Mebbe you’re 
thinkin’ of that gal that lives there ? ” 

“ I am.” 

No, that aint enny child of his’n.” 

Who is she ? ” 

‘‘Well, that’s tellin'. Folks use to talk about her a 
good deal, some time back. ’Pears ez how they’ve kind 
o’ forgot it nowadays. But you kin set mother’s 
tongue waggin’ now if yer start the topick.” 

“ Why ? Is she a girl with a story ? ” 

“ I spose there must be a story, but I reckon it’s the 
want o’ one that made folks talk a spell back. Ye see 
about twelve or thirteen years ago, there driv up to 
Cooper’s a coach from Albany. I was in the door yard 
as it happened, tryin’ fer to trade an old mare I hed, for 
a young boss Cooper had raised. In the coach was a 


22 


VIVIER. 


man ez spruce and slick ez a candidate for Congress 
after he’s got the nomination ; a woman about thirty 
years old ; and a gal about seven, p’raps younger. The 
man steps out and sez : ‘ Cooper, here’s the parties. 
Take ’em in and make ’em ez comfortable ez you kin. 
Here’s the fust six months’ board, and it’ll come reglar 
every six months. I’ve got to git right back.’ Then he 
ban’s to Cooper a roll o’ bills and is off in a jiffy. I 
didn’t drive no trade with Cooper, fer ez soon ez he 
closed his fingers on to that roll, the money to boot I was 
offerin’ him wan’t no objeck. Well, there they’ve been 
ever since. Elias P. sez ez how the money comes reglar 
to a day, every six months, an’ hez for the past twelve 
or thirteen years. He hasn’t seen the man but once 
since, an’ that were about three months back. The 
woman’s name is Mrs. Humphrey. She ’pears like a 
nice kind of a woman, but she aint got nuthin’ to say ; 
she aint sed nuthin’ as to who she is or who the gal is, or 
where they come from. She shuts up just like a jack- 
knife when ennybody sets out to talk about it. Elias P. 
Cooper don’t say nothin ’cept he don’t know, an’ that the 
money comes reglar. Its a part o’ the bargain, I guess. 
Well, ye see the kumminity jest resolved itself into a 
committy of the hull, as they say in the legislater, on to 
the case, and they’ve bin sittin’ on that ’ere egg ever 
since, an’ they don’t know anything more’n they did 
w’en they fust went into session. If you want to know 
ennything more, ye want to get mother started. She 
can’t give ye many more fac’s, but she kin giv’ ye a hull 
heap o’ specerlation.” 

“ What is the young girl’s name ? ” 

“ It’s an outlandish, heathenish sort o’ name — Ines 
Alloway.” 


A WOOD NYMPH. 23 

“ I don’t see anything particularly strange in her 
history so far.” 

“ Well, there aint,” continued the farmer. “ Our 
country folks, p’raps, is kind o’ curris about strangers, 
an’ all the talk is because them fokes wont talk about 
themsel’s. Then they kind o’ keep themsel’s to them- 
sel’s. The gal don’t do nuthin’ ’cept read and play. 
Mrs. Humphrey’s bin teachin’ her all along, — guess she’s 
stopped now the gal’s got so big.” 

“ Mrs. Humphrey is her governess, then ? ” 

“Well, yes, her gardeen too, I guess. She don’t 
seem to want fer money fer her and the gal'. She has a 
carriage an’ a couple o’ horses, an’ a man fer to take 
keer o’ them and to drive.” 

“ Do they stay here all the time ? ” 

“ Mrs. Humphrey goes away now an’ agin, but not fer 
long — the gal never.” 

The farmer’s tale greatly interested Lysaght, and he 
felt that it fitted the girl well. How, or in what manner, 
he was at a loss to explain to himself, but it all seemed 
to be a part of her. Wondering over it he went to bed. 

During the week that followed the artist met the girl 
daily and grew all the more interested in her. On the 
day previous to that upon which he was to return to the 
city, he said to her : 

“ Miss Alloway,” — for he had addressed her by her 
name on the first occasion of meeting her after the 
farmer’s story, and without exciting surprise on her 
part that he should know it, — Miss Alloway, I return 
to the city to-morrow.” 

“ To-morrow,” she interrupted, in a tone of undis- 
guised regret ; “ I am sorry.” 

“ So am I. My days here have passed most pleasantly. 
But I must go back. Before I do I wish you to know 


24 


V/VIER. 


my name. You never have had the curiosity to ask, 
apparently.” 

“ I never thought of it. It did not seem necessary to 
know, as it does with other people.” 

The artist did not know whether to be chagrined or 
pleased. Finding himself unable to make appropriate 
reply he simply said : 

“ My name is Stanley Lysaght. I am an artist, and 
live by selling my pictures.” 

From the expression upon her face, the girl evidently 
expected him to say something more. 

“ It may not be a matter of any consequence to you,” 
he continued, much piqued by the manner in which she 
received his confidence, “ but still I felt as if I should 
like you to know it. I shall be back again before the 
summer is over, and in the mean time, that I may not be 
wholly forgotten, I have brought this volume of Hood, 
begging you will accept it as a memento of these fair 
and pleasant summer days.” 

The girl took the book he had drawn from his pocket, 
with an air of reluctance. 

“ I shall be very glad to have the book,” she said with 
a blush slightly mantling her cheeks, the first Lysaght 
had seen, “ for I am always glad to get a new book. 
But if you give it to me so that I may remember you it 
is useless ; I shall never forget you. I shall be sorry to 
know you are gone. I feel quite lonely now, to know 
you are going. I have enjoyed meeting you here,” 

Lysaght was disconcerted by her frankness. He was 
certain she was sincere, and had she been one of his 
circle of acquaintances in the city he would have made a 
gallant and graceful reply. But he intuitively felt that a 
pretty speech would be wholly inappropriate. 

“ I am fond of Hood,” he replied illogically, think- 


A WOOD NYMPB. 


25 


ing he must reply. “ It is not the fashion to fancy him 
in these days, I imagine, but I like him. Perhaps the 
reason why I selected him to give to you is because of 
his ‘ Fair Inez,’ though I cannot say that it is in any way 
appropriate to you, or to our acquaintance.” 

“ Find it, and read it to me,” she urged, extending the 
book. 

He did so, and moreover read it well. 

“That is music,” she said when he had finished. 

A desire to try an experiment possessed him. 

“After all,” he said, “one stanza is appropriate to you.” 

“ Which is that ? ” she asked eagerly. 

“ The second : 

“ ‘ O turn again, fair Inez 
Before the fall of night, 

For fear the moon should shine alone, 

And stars unrivaled bright ; 

And blessed will the lover be 
That walks beneath their light. 

And breathes the love against thy cheek 
I dare not even write.’ ” 

He closed the book and returned it to her. 

“I’ve often wondered what love is like,” she said. 
“ The books say so much about it.” 

Lysaght picked up his traps, which he had previously 
tied up, lifted them to his shoulder, extended his hand 
and said : 

“ Good-by.” 

The girl, startled by his abruptness, placed her hand 
in his, and replied with a trace of wonder in her tone : 

“ Good-by.” 

The next moment he was trudging off to the highway, 
vexed with her, angry with himself, and wholly disap- 
pointed. 


2 $ 


VIVIER. 


The girl stood watching him until he was lost to view. 
Then calling her dog, she turned and went down the 
hill by her accustomed by-path, with her head bent on 
the ground, thinking new thoughts. 


CHAPTER IV. 

PRECIPITATE LOVE-MAKING. 

inconsistencies of human character, in large 
1 part, account for the’ never-failing interest its study 
affords. Lysaght, who was dwelling almost wholly in 
the imaginative world of art, who had devoted years to 
the study of love and its influence upon human nature, 
through frequent endeavors to depict it under various 
circumstances on canvas, yet scoffed at the idea that he 
should ever succumb to its power. Illogically he had 
concluded that he was intellectually superior to it ; that 
love and passion were weaknesses ; and that freedom from 
them was indication of qualities elevating and ennobling. 
It never occurred to him that he was setting himself upon 
an impossible pedestal as a superior being, studying the 
follies and eccentricities of an inferior race, in which was 
included everybody but himself. 

The artist found on awakening in the morning that 
his first thought was of the fair girl who had been his 
daily companion for a week. This was instantly suc- 
ceeded by a feeling of desolation when he realized that 
he was to be parted from her for a long time. That she 
was necessary to his happiness, even in a slight degree, 
seemed monstrous to him ; that she had the power to 
make him experience a sharp sensation of grief over their 
separation, came upon him with all the force of a stun- 
ning blow. He sprang from his bed angry with the fact, 
the realization, with himself. 


PRECIPITATE LOVE-MAKING. 


27 


He sat down at the window to think over it, but the 
only thing he could summon was the airy form of her 
gracious presence. The longer he dwelt upon his situa- 
tion the more strongly he felt the power she had assumed 
over him. Through the dense egotism he had uncon- 
sciously cultivated finally penetrated the idea that with- 
out her companionship the future was not alluring. This 
idea, which at first was so startling to him, became sweet 
and tender, and he abandoned himself to its charm, with 
such disregard for former theories that a revolution was 
wrought within him. He accepted the idea, welcomed 
it, cherished it. The ardency of his nature having been 
fired, he determined he could not return without declar- 
ing his passion to Ines, and establishing such relations 
with her as would enable him to hear from her daily until 
his return. 

It had been arranged that he was to be driven to Al- 
bany that morning to meet an early train. This pro- 
gramme he altered so as to start an hour earlier. The 
farmer’s son, Ben, was to drive him. As soon as they 
had left the house behind them, Lysaght informed 
the boy that he wished to stop at the house of Mr. 
Cooper. 

Accordingly they turned into the long lane leading 
from the highway to the Cooper farm-house. At the 
door he was met by the farmer’s wife, who was invaria- 
bly addressed by her neighbors as “ Mis ” Cooper, 
though she was duly wed. 

He inquired for Miss Alloway, saying he would be 
pleased to see her quickly, since he was much hurried. 

To his astonishment, the simple request seem to over- 
whelm the good woman. She hesitated, stammered, 
blushed, and finally escaped from her embarrassment by 
calling out ; 


28 


VIVIER. 


“ Mis Humphrey, here’s a man ez ses he wants to see 
Ines.” 

A middle-aged lady came hurriedly and with an ex- 
pression of alarmed inquiry upon her face. 

“ I have called to see Miss Alloway,” said Lysaght, 
politely. “ I beg she may be informed quickly, since 
my time is limited.” 

“ What is your name, please,” asked the lady. 

“ Lysaght,” replied the artist. 

“ And your business with the young lady ?” 

“ Pardon me,” said Lysaght coldly, and with a slight 
shrug of the shoulders, “ if I say that I will communicate 
that to the young lady myself.” 

“ I would not permit you to see the young lady with- 
out being fully informed of your business,” was the 
astonishing reply. 

“ Indeed ! ” said Lysaght, frowning severely. 

“ The young lady is in my charge,” continued the 
lady, “ and by those who have placed the responsibility 
of care on me, I am held accountable for the acquaint- 
ances she makes — all communications she has with 
people I do not know all about. And I am further 
instructed that she is not to see more strangers than is 
absolutely necessary. As it happens. Miss Alloway is 
not in the house, and I do not believe she will return in 
some hours.” 

Lysaght immediately jumped to the conclusion that 
Ines had gone to the hills. He hesitated a moment, 
then raising his hat politely, said : 

“ I'll trouble you no further.” 

He turned and quickly mounted the wagon. Ben 
touched the horses smartly, and they dashed down the 
lane and whirled in the direction of Albany, before he 
could determine upon the advisability of deferring his 


PRECIPITATE LOVE-MAKING. 29 

return until another day, in order to have speech with 
Ines. 

A bend in the road revealed the subject of his 
thoughts. On a high bank, plucking golden-rod, stood 
Ines, apparently unconscious of his approach. 

“ There’s that gal at Cooper’s,” said the lad, with sub- 
lime indifference for Lindley Murray’s rules. 

She did not turn as they drove up. The artist, telling 
the boy to stop his horses, leaped from the wagon and 
climbed the bank to where she was. 

When he spoke, she presented a smiling and blushing 
face to him. 

I am overjoyed at meeting you,” he said, “ at the 
very moment I was thinking of going back to look for 
you on the hills.” 

“ I thought we said ‘ good-by ’ yesterday,” she an- 
swered. 

“ We did. But I have found there is something more 
I want to say to you. I went to see you this morning.” 

“ You went to see me this morning,” she repeated, 
inquiringly, while an expression of alarm, quickly fol- 
lowed by one of amusement, swept over her face. 

“ Yes, and inquired for you, when I was told I could 
not see you without telling my business.” 

“ You must have seen Mrs. Humphrey,” said the girl, 
much vexed. “ She never likes me to see any one.” 

“ I could not very well tell any one but you my busi- 
ness. As it is I must be very abrupt, now that I have 
by good fortune found you.” 

He took a card from his pocket, and, penciling his 
address on it, extended it to her. 

See, here is my card. I have written my address 
upon it. I wanted to ask you if you will not write 
to me.” 


30 


VIVIER. 


The girl took it, regarding it curiously, while her face 
became scarlet. ' 

“ I never wrote a real letter to any one in all my life,” 
she replied. 

“ Then do so now, please, and to me,” pleaded Ly- 
saght. 

By this time the boy, whom he had directed to drive 
on slowly, had made a turn in the road and was out of 
sight. 

“ This week,” continued Lysaght, “ has been an im- 
portant one to me. Not only pleasant but one of great 
discovery.” 

He stopped to see if she comprehended ; she was pull- 
ing a daisy to pieces, her head bent low. 

“ Can you not guess what it is ? ” 

The girl shook her head, but did not look up ; all the 
old freedom and frankness was gone. 

“ I was an egotistical fool not to have realized it when 
we were together on the hills. I didn’t, however, until 
this morning. It required the prospect of a lengthened 
separation to knock it into my stupid head. 'This is my 
discovery : Life will have little pleasure for me, if this 
companionship of a week cannot stretch out for a life- 
time, and be made something nearer and dearer.” 

His tone was tender, and his eyes even more earnest 
than his tones. The girl bent her head lower, her face a 
deeper hue even. 

“ The story is a simple one,” he continued. “ I have 
come to love you, Ines. I never knew it until this morn- 
ing — to love you more deeply than I supposed it possi- 
ble to love a woman. I know it is absurd to suppose 
that I have inspired in you such emotion or pas- 
sion. But I can teach you to love me, if you will permit 
me. This is all I ask you to do now. To let me love 


ABROAD FOR NEWS. 


31 


you and teach you to love me. Let me write to you 
until I come again. Will you ? Will you answer my 
letters ? ” 

The girl lifted her head shyly, as he paused, and 
turned upon him beaming eyes. Had he not been as 
blind as lovers proverbially are, he would have rightfully 
interpreted the glance to his complete satisfaction. As 
it was he repeated his question. 

Ines put out her white hand and let it drop, fluttering 
with excitement, into his outstretched palm, and said 
simply : 

“ I will.” 

He lifted it to his lips and pressed a warm kiss upon it, 
saying : 

Then write me to-day, that I may receive it to-mor- 
row. I will reply promptly. Now I must hurry to catch 
the train.” 

She watched him overtake the wagon, leap in, — saw 
him turn and wave his hat to her, to which she responded 
with her handkerchief. When he was lost to view she 
turned and slowly climbed the hill, earnestly caressing 
the hand on which she still felt the warm impress of 
her first lover’s first kiss. 


CHAPTER V. 

ABROAD FOR NEWS. 

D elighted with his good fortune in meeting Ines 
at a time when he despaired of seeing her, and her 
ready compliance with his request, Lysaght gave himself 
up to pleasant thoughts. 

The roads were in good condition and the horses 
something better than an ordinary farm team, so, not 


32 


VIVIER. 


withstanding the delay his roadside love-making had 
occasioned, they drew up at the station in Albany in 
ample time. 

After taking his seat in the car and while disposing his 
impedimenta about his chair, he found he had left his 
color-box behind. As he made the discovery the boy 
Ben came into the car hurriedly, saying : 

“Mr. Lysaght, you left this in the wagon.” 

A gentleman sitting immediately opposite swung his 
chair about on hearing the boy, and regarded the artist 
with interest. Lysaght placed the box on the floor be- 
side him, so that the side on which was painted his name 
was displayed. 

The painter had only time to thrust a piece of money 
into the hand of the boy, and thank him, before the train 
pulled out of the station. 

The gentleman, whose interest had been excited by 
the incident, crossed the car and took a vacant chair 
beside the artist. 

“ I see your name is Lysaght,” he said. “ Did you ever 
know a man named Stanley Lysaght ? ” 

“ That is my name,” replied the artist. 

“ You are too young for the man I mean. Besides, 
he is dead. The one I refer to was an inventor.” 

“You must mean my uncle, then. His name was 
Stanley, he was an inventor, and he died a dozen or 
more years ago.” 

“ It must be the same. I used to do business with 
him.” 

“ I did not know much of him,” replied the artist. 
“ An unfortunate difference between himself and his 
family alienated him, and he did not recognize us after- 
wards. He was rather eccentric, I believe.” 

“ He was a strange man as I recollect him/’ said 


ABROAD FOR NEWS. 


33 


the stranger. “ Difficult to deal with — full of queer 
ideas.” 

“ My immediate family went abroad some time before 
my uncle’s death. As all communication with him had 
ceased we did not hear of his death until a long time, 
and then through the newspapers. I was quite young at 
the time.” 

“ You could only have been a boy,” answered the 
stranger. “ He was a widower.” 

“Yes. His marriage was the first cause of the dif- 
ferences.” 

“ His child must be fully grown now.” 

“ His child,” exclaimed the artist ? “ Why, he had no 
child.” 

“ Indeed he had,” replied the stranger, “ A little girl 
of three then, I should judge, perhaps younger.” 

“ Surely, you must be mistaken,” said the artist. 

“ No, I am not. I remember it distinctly. If she is 
not living, what has become of his property ? ” 

“ Property ? ” laughed Lysaght. “ Property indeed. 
He had none. What little he inherited, I am told, he 
wasted on impossible inventions, and thereafter lived in 
a condition of chronic impecuniosity. No, Uncle Stanley 
had no property, I can assure you.” 

“You are wrong there. He died a rich man.” 

Lysaght turned- to regard closely the man who made 
so astounding a statement. That he was a man of 
affairs, bearing the evidences of prosperity and large 
responsibilities, was plain — a solid man of business.” 

“ You must be wrong, sir,” questioning in his tone. 

“But I am not, as I can prove beyond dispute,” per- 
sisted the stranger. “ I paid him myself |ioo,ooo for 
his right, title, and interest in certain inventions, on 
behalf of a company of which I was then, and am now, 


34 


VIVIER. 


the President, and also assumed for the company all his 
debts, so that on the day the papers of transfer were 
signed he was worth $100,000 clear of the world.” 

“ You astound me.” 

“ I recollect it as clearly as if it were yesterday. I 
have reason to.” 

“ Can we be speaking of the same person ? ” asked the 
artist. 

“ My Stanley Lysaght came from Carmel, Putnam 
County.” 

“It is the same. My family came from Carmel. I 
was born there. I am utterly confounded by what you 
tell me. Permit me to ask your name ? ” 

“ My name is Devol — Abram Devol, President of the 
Empire Mining Supplies Company.” 

“And you say there is a daughter?” 

“There was in 1871. I have heard nothing of her 
since. Whether she is alive or dead I do not know.” 

The artist was overwhelmed with astonishment, and 
he sat thinking for some moments. 

“You can rest assured,” said the stranger, “ that what 
I am telling you is the truth. I can prove it by docu- 
mentary evidence at my office, whenever you see fit to 
examine it.” 

“ Where did you say he obtained that large sum ? ” 

“ We paid it to him, for the exclusive ownership in 
certain of his inventions. The date of the transfer was 
the 1 8th of June, 1871. I am not likely to forget it, for 
we date the great prosperity of our company from that 
day. The possession of them gave us the lead we have 
since held. The principal one was an ore-crushing 
machine. It was a great success. We offered him at 
first an interest in the company, but he wanted too large 
a one — he wanted to control it, so after long negoti^- 


ABROAD FOR NEWS. 


35 


tions, frequently broken off, we finally offered him 
$100,000 in hard cash and the assumption of all his 
debts. This he accepted. I had delayed a journey to 
San Francisco for a month to close up the affair. Two 
days after I left the city, and, as events shaped them- 
selves, did not return for five years. That was on the 
2oth, and just before I left I heard that Lysaght had 
fallen dead in the street the day previous.” 

“ All this is very astounding to me,” said the artist. 

“ Did he leave many relatives?” asked Mr. Devol. 

“ Relatives ? If this child of whom you speak is not 
alive, I am the last of the family.” 

“ Indeed. Then it is worth your while to find some- 
thing out about the child. That property may be await- 
ing you.” 

“ Whether there is a large sum of money awaiting my 
search for it, or not, I am anxious to learn about the 
daughter. If living, she must be with strangers.” 

“ She may be with her mother’s relatives ? ” 

“ No. Her mother had none known. I cannot go 
into that part of it further than to say that “the marriage 
of my uncle to her mother was the cau.se of the differ- 
ences between himself and the family.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Devol, “It is worth your while to 
hunt the matter up. I can prove to you at any time you 
wish the fact of the money being paid your uncle.” 

“ And the child, as well ? ” 

“ I can give you no proof on that point. We have the 
papers of transfer of the patent rights, the articles of 
agreement, and the receipt for the money in your uncle’s 
handwriting.” Mr. Devol laughed as he continued : 
“ Your uncle was a queer stick. Nothing but bank- 
notes would suit him, and so we had one hundred one- 
thousand-dollar notes for him. His receipt gives a 


36 


VI VIE R. 


description, ‘ one hundred greenback notes of the de- 
nomination of one thousand dollars each, of the num- 
bers, respectively,’ etc. I recollect the precise words. 
However, as to the child, I can only add that after 
receiving the money your uncle said, ‘ This is not what I 
ought to have, but it will make my little girl rich.’ He 
added that he did not expect to live long, for his heart 
was affected he knew, and he further said that he should 
put the sum in trust for her, reserving the use of the 
income to himself during his life.” 

“ Do you think he left a will ? ” 

“ I know nothing about it, but I imagine not, since he 
intended to put the sum in trust for his daughter, and 
since he died the following day.” 

The artist was silent for some time, lost in reflection. 
After a while he said : 

“ I do not know what to do. I cannot rest satisfied 
until I know something about that cousin.” 

“ Naturally,” replied Mr. Devol. “ She must be a 
young lady now of nineteen or twenty, if she is alive.” 

“ Could you give me the name of any person intimate 
with my uncle at that time ? ” 

Mr. Devol was about to reply in the negative, when he 
checked himself with an exclamation of wonder. 

“Well, now,” he said, as he thrust his hand in a side 
pocket and took out a number of letters. “ How 
strangely things do come about ! How occurrences fit 
into each other ! Some days ago, among the personal 
mail forwarded to me from the office, was a letter from 
a man of whom I have had no knowledge these many 
years. That man was, I suppose, a friend of your uncle. 
At all events it was at his house your uncle stopped 
when in the city, and to whose house his body was carried. 
His name is Molleson. He was a likely fellow ten years 


ABROAD FOR NEWS. 


37 


ago, but I have heard that he has taken the wrong track. 
However.” he said as he selected one letter from the 
number he was overlooking, “ here is his address. Take 
it down, it may be useful to you : ‘ Henry Molleson, 1314 
One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street.’ ” « 

Lysaght did as he was directed, and after thanking 
Mr. Devol fell into profound thought. What with his 
mind so occupied with what he had heard, and with Ines, 
the time passed so rapidly that he was surprised when 
the train shot into the Fourth Avenue tunnel. 

Arousing himself, he sought Mr. Devol, who had 
moved into another part of the car, and expressing his 
appreciation of the information he had given him, asked 
permission to call upon him for further assistance if oc- 
casion demanded. This Mr. Devol readily granted. At 
the station at Forty-second Street, they parted with a 
hearty grasp of the hand. 

The artist hastened to his studio, where he deposited 
his art traps, and then to his lodgings for a bath and a 
change of costume. This done, he set out to find his 
friend Vivier. 

Fortune favored him, for at the Union League, where 
he made his first call, he found Vivier. 

I want to have a talk with you on important mat- 
ters,” he said, as his friend entered the reception-room. 
“ Where can we go ? ” 

Vivier saw that his friend was deeply in earnest. 

“ To my rooms. We will be less liable to interruption 
there.” 

“ Let us go at once,” said the artist, arising. 

Arriving, Lysaght at once plunged into the matters he 
had at heart. 

“ This day,” he said, by way of preface, “ has been one 
of unusual significance — at least to me. The outcome 


38 


VIVIER. 


of all I have done and heard must have a great influence 
upon my future for good or for evil. I want counsel. 
At all events, I want friction of mind to stir my own into 
proper activity, for it is numb from astonishment, and I 
want you to receive my communication seriously.” 

Vivier, much surprised by this exordium, promised seri* 
ous attention. 

Lysaght began his recital with his first meeting with 
Ines, and followed up his acquaintance with her to the 
moment of his parting from her that morning. Then he 
told of his conversation with Mr. Devol on the cars. 

“ Upon my word,” cried Vivier, “ I never read a novel 
more interesting. But we have only the beginning of it. 
Does there not seem to be something mysterious about 
the fair Ines ? 

I thought so until I reflected that all there was had 
been builded up by the simple country folk, who having 
lived all their lives with their neighbors, and knowing 
every incident in the history of each other, were worried 
because the strangers did not have the same gossiping 
propensities as themselves.” 

Vivier did not reply, but the expression of his face 
must have indicated that he did not follow his friend in 
this belief, for Lysaght quickly added: 

“ It is true, I do not know anything about her — that is 
to say, her antecedents.” 

Vivier did not put his thoughts into words. In fact 
he concealed them by remarking lightly: 

“ Our cases are not dissimilar. You love a girl and 
do not know who she is. I am to marry one of whom 
I know even less.” 

“ Then you have determined ? ” 

“I suppose so. I cannot face the parental wrath 
with a refusal.” 


ABROAD FOR NEWS. 


39 


“ You do not think he will relent?” 

“ I know he will not. The day you left the city, as I 
was parting from him he said ; ‘ One moment, Ned. I 
suppose I understand our agreement rightly when I say 
that as a consequence of acceding to your request for 
delay, you marry the girl I’ve selected without any 
nonsense at the end of two years ? ’ I cannot face 
poverty, so I said, ‘ Yes.’ ” 

“ Ugh.” 

“ You seem to express disgust ? ” 

“ I do. I thought you more of a man.” 

“ Well, I am not.” 

“ I am sorry for it.” 

“ Recollect, old man,” said Vivier, laughing, “ I am 
not in love.” 

“ You ought to be when you think of marriage.” 

“ Perhaps I will when I come to marry ? ” 

“ With some other woman, likely.” 

“ That would be awkward. But let us talk about 
your affairs. You will see this Molleson as the first 
step ? ” 

“ Yes, to-morrow. Will you go with me?” 

“ I will be glad to ; lam quite eager over the search.” 

“ Let us go early, Ned. The hour is late, and I am 
tired,” said the. artist, taking his hat. “ Where shall we 
meet in the morning ? ” 

“ Let us breakfast together,” replied Vivier. “ How 
will the Hoffman suit you — at eight ?” 

“ Very well. I’m off to bed.” 

“ Good-night, old man. Dream well of your fair 
Ines, and I will of my unknown bride.” 


40 


VIVIER. 


CHAPTER VI. 

MR. HENRY MOLLESON. 

W HEN Lysaght and Vivier presented themselves at 
the address given the former by Mr. Devol, in 
One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, they were told 
that he was not at home, but could be found at Hagan’s, 
five doors nearer Third Avenue. Mr. Hagan did not 
hide his light under a bushel. The flagstones opposite 
his place were ornamented with brass letters spelling 
his name, so arranged that from whichever direction the 
passer-by approached they could be read. 

Pushing open the curtained door they found them- 
selves in a drinking saloon of the modern shool, that is 
to say, of aesthetic pretensions. Oil paintings adorned 
the walls, green ferns and cactus plants swelled in china 
jars ; placques of burnished brass, upon which the faces 
of brassy young ladies flourished, monopolized what 
space was not occupied by dinted and battered armor, 
forged the previous year. The woodwork was highly 
polished, while rugs of many hues partially covered a 
waxed and oiled floor. The paintings were somewhat 
loud and the china somewhat doubtful, but the glass- 
ware was genuine and supplied the sincerity otherwise 
wanting. Twenty feet from the door a partition crossed 
the room at the end of the bar, the wood of which was 
polished cherry, and the opening in which was adorned 
and concealed by a gaudy portilre. 

A young man, whose chief characteristics were a very 
white coat and a very black mustache, stood behind the 
bar, reading a morning paper. 

As the two young men entered, he was remarking, and 
to all appearances, since no one else was in sight, by 


MR. HENRY MOLLESON. 


41 


way of soliloquy, that the “ Chicagos had knocked ’em 
silly again,” and was affirming with profane emphasis 
that he would “ be dbggoned if he would put any more 
stuff on ’em again,” because, as he averred, he was now 
“ fifty behind on the season.” 

In response to the question as to whether Mr. Henry 
Molleson was to be found there, this emphatic person 
curtly replied : 

“ In the back room.” 

Then, raising his voice, said : 

Some gentlemen to see you, Harry.” 

Vivier led the way by parting the curtain, and they 
entered a room twenty feet square, the floor of which 
was thickly carpeted, and in which there was a number 
of highly polished tables. From one of these, in a cor- 
ner near the partition, a man, laying down a newspaper, 
arose and advanced toward them. 

He was respectably clad in black, wore a silk hat 
exceedingly glossy, and his linen was all that could be 
desired. His face was red and bloated, his eyes inflamed 
and bloodshot, and his hands visibly trembled. Quite 
evidently he had not as yet sufficiently stimulated to 
overcome the effects of the previous night's potations. 
His address was far superior to his appearance. Polite 
and bland, it was not without a certain sort of dignity. 

“ Do you wish to see me ? ” he asked. “ My name is 
Molleson.” 

“I presume so,” replied Lysaght. “We wish to see 
Mr. Henry Molleson, of 1314 One Hundred and Twenty- 
fifth Street.” 

“ I am at your service ; that is my name and resi- 
dence.” 

“Your address was given me by Mr. Devol.” 

Indeed.” 


42 


vrviEJ?. 


Molleson was evidently surprised and disturbed, and 
curiously regarded the two young men as if he would 
read their business in their faces. 

“ I was expecting a communication from Mr. Devol,” 
he said, after having waited for them to proceed, “ but 
neither so promptly, nor by such means.” 

“You mistake our errand,” replied Lysaght. “We 
do not bear a message from him. We are here on an 
affair of my own.” 

“ Ah ! ” The tone was one of relief. “ Wont you be 
seated ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Vivier, who, closely eyeing Mr. Mol- 
leson, had determined what would be most agreeable to 
him, — “ and if you do not object, we will break a bottle 
of wine, as early as it is. A long walk on a hot morning 
tends to thirst.” 

That the proposition was highly satisfactory was shown 
in the alacrity with which Mr. Molleson summoned the 
presence of the profanely emphatic person of the immac- 
ulate white coat and densely black mustache. When the 
bottle and glasses were placed before them, the artist 
opened the business by saying : 

“ It is proper that we should introduce ourselves. 
This,” motioning toward his friend, “ is Mr. Vivier.” 

Molleson turned upon the young man a keen and 
earnest glance. 

“ And,” continued the artist, “ my name is Lysaght — 
Stanley Lysaght.” 

Mr. Molleson, who was in the act of sipping his wine, 
started violently. It seemed to strangle him, for he 
choked and coughed quite as violently. When he re- 
covered he gasped : 

“ Well, Lm dashed ! ” 

Whether he was astonished at finding the beverage 


Mk. HENR Y MOLLBSON. 


43 


had refused an easy passage over the road it knew so 
well, or whether over the introductions made, was not 
clear to his visitors, who, however, on the whole, were 
inclined to attribute it to the former reason. Having 
recovered, Mr. Molleson gave himself up to undivided 
attention. 

“I have been informed,” said the artist, “that a dozen 
or more years ago my uncle, Mr. Stanley Lysaght, lived 
with you.” 

Molleson eyed the painter keenly before he replied : 

“ A Mr. Stanley Lysaght some years ago made my 
home his stopping-place, what time he spent in the city. 
I can hardly say he lived with me.” 

“ That is what I mean,” said Lysaght. “ He resided 
at Carmel, Putnam County, but when business or pleas- 
ure led him to the city, which was frequently, he stayed 
at your house ? ” 

“ That is so,” answered Molleson, “ but I am sur- 
prised to hear you call yourself a nephew. I did not 
suppose he had any relatives.” 

“ My uncle had discarded his relatives, by reason of a 
quarrel with them.” 

“ Ah, I understand.” 

“At the time of his death he was stopping with 
you ? ” 

“ Yes, he was buried from my house. I was living in 
University Place then.” 

“ He died on the street, 1 believe.” 

“ No, he died in a Broadway stage. He was stricken 
with heart disease and died almost instantly.” 

“I desire to ask you a few questions. May I be per- 
mitted to do so ? ” 

“ Certainly, as many as you please,” replied Molleson 
courteously. 


44 


VI VIE R, 


“ In the first place I should like to know what your 
relations with my uncle were ? ” 

“ Our relations were friendly, if that is what you mean, 
but not particularly intimate. To leave you under no 
misapprehension, let me say right here, that your uncle 
boarded with me. He came to me in the first place upon 
the suggestion of a friend, who was at the time my 
employer.” 

“ Did you know anything of his affairs ? ” 

“ His affairs ? Not much, except that he was an in- 
ventor, always having something on hand by which he 
was just on the point of making a great fortune — which 
fortune never materialized.” 

“ He had a daughter ? ” 

“Yes, an only child. She was at my house when he 
died.” 

Lysaght, playing with his wine-glass, reflected some 
time. Then, as if somewhat ashamed of the question, 
asked : ^ 

“ The child was legitimate ? ” 

Molleson smiled as he replied : 

“ I do not think there is any doubt of that.” 

“ Is she still alive ? ” 

Molleson lifted his glass to his lips and drank slowly 
before he replied. 

“ I presume she is,” he said, at length ; “ at all events 
I have not heard of her death.” 

“ Can you inform me of her present whereabouts ? ” 

Molleson took a longer time to answer. 

“ Not immediately. Perhaps I might get trace of her ; 
I am not certain.” 

His manner struck Vivier, who was silently observant, 
as if he was anxious not to tell too much — as if he was 
carefully guarding his utterances. 


MR, HENRY MOLlESON. 45 

What became of her immediately after her father’s 
death?” asked Vivien 

“ For some two or three months she remained in the 
care of my wife. Then the gentlemen who had borne 
the expenses of your uncle’s funeral took her in charge 
and placed her with some lady they had selected.” 

“ Who had borne the expenses of my uncle’s funeral ? ” 
repeated Lysaght in surprise. 

“ Yes. Your uncle died practically penniless. And a 
number of your uncle’s business associates subscribed a 
fund for his burial, and afterwards, as I understand, also 
one for the support of his daughter.” 

“ Can you give me the names of those gentlemen ?” 

“ Mr. Lysaght,” replied Mr. Molleson, warming up, 
“ you are asking me as to matters occurring many years 
ago — as to matters I have not thought of in many years. 
I know that these gentlemen were business associates — 
that it was all very proper, but who they were I cannot 
tell now, for I did not meet them. I attended to the 
details of the funeral, but the bills were paid by a lawyer 
engaged by them. And the girl was afterwards taken 
in charge by the same lawyer.” 

“ Are you certain that my uncle was buried by 
charity ?” 

“ Quite certain.” 

“ You did not know, then, that when he died he was a 
rich man ? ” 

“ He. Oh, no ! ” 

“ But he was,” persisted the artist. “ The day before 
he died he was paid a fortune in money for certain 
patent rights.” 

Impossible,” ejaculated Molleson. 

“ It is a fact. We have the testimony of Mr. Devol.” 

“ Yes, yes,” interupted Molleson, deeply interested. 


46 


VIVIER. 


“ President of the Empire Mining Supplies Company. 
Lysaght was always going to see him about an ore- 
crushing machine for months before his death. I 
looked everywhere for the drawings and models of that 
machine.” 

“ Mr. Devol, acting for his company, bought that 
right and others for the sum of $100,000, and paid him 
the money the day before his death. This Mr. Devol 
starjds ready to prove beyond dispute.” 

Molleson leaped to his feet, pushing his hat far back 
on his head, and, thrusting his hands deep in his pockets, 
paced up and down the room in great excitement, ex- 
claiming as he walked: 

“ The de-evil you say ! The de-evil you say ! ” 

The two young men, astonished at the excitement 
Molleson evinced, watched him as he paced up and 
down. He came back to them and dropped into his 
chair. 

“ But what has become of the money ? ” he asked. 

“ That is what we want to know,” replied Vivier. 

“ Has not my cousin inherited it ? Is it not held in 
trust for her ? ” asked Lysaght. 

“ She inherit it ? Held in trust for her ? ” repeated 
Molleson excitedly. “ Not a dime. Not a cent.” 

“ Who was the lawyer who acted for these people and 
who took charge of the girl ? ” 

Mr. Molleson gazed at Lysaght for a long time with- 
out replying, as if he had not heard the question, and 
then answered abruptly : 

“ Oh, he is dead since.” 

Whether it was due to the wine he had drunk or to 
the excitement he so plainly showed, or to both, a great 
change had taken place in Molleson’s appearance. His 
face had lost its redness, its lines which had been ob- 


MR. HENRY MOLLESON. 


47 


scured were now visible, and his eyes, before so inflamed 
and bloodshot, were now clear and sharp. All his fac- 
ulties were aroused, and he was a thoroughly awakened 
man. 

“ All this is very mystifying,” he said, as if talking to 
himself. “ An inspector of police and a police surgeon 
were in the stage when he was taken, and they had 
charge of him from the beginning. In searching his 
pockets to discover who he was, they found he was stay- 
ing with me, but no such immense sum as this was found 
on him.” 

“Then my cousin is now cared for by charity ? ” 

“ Yes, if she is cared for at all — that is, if she is alive.” 

“ I must find her.” 

“ Ye-es,” said Molleson, glancing keenly at Lysaght, 
“ you ought to find her.” 

“ Can you not assist me ? ” 

“ Perhaps. I don’t know.” 

“ I should be very happy to reimburse you in any 
expense you might be subjected to.” 

“You are very kind,” answered Molleson, almost me- 
chanically. Then, rousing himself, “ The matter is sur- 
rounded with difficulty. There will be expenses — trav- 
eling expenses, messengers to send some distance. Are 
you prepared to spend four or five hundred dollars in 
the search ? ” 

“ Yes,” promptly replied Vivier, seeing that L5^saght 
was hesitating. 

“Well, I will not want the money now. I must exam- 
ine the ground and make some inquiries.” 

“ When can we have some information ? ” 

“ That I cannot tell precisely. I’ll put my thinking 
cap on, talk with my wife, whose memory is good. I’ll 
let you know as soon as I can get a basis for proceeding. 


I 


48 VIVIER. 

Let me have yoiw address so that I can communicate 
with you.” " 

Lysaght handed him his card. Vivier rose from the 
table, followed by the artist. 

“ Wont you take another bottle ? ” asked Molleson. 
“No? Well, then, good-by. I am glad to have made 
your acquaintance.” 

The two young men passed out, leaving Molleson in 
a brown study. 

“ Stan,” said Vivier as soon as they were upon the 
pavement, “ that fellow Molleson knows a great deal more 
than he is willing to admit now? ” 

“ About the money ? ” 

“ No. He is sincere there. His surprise was genuine. 
But about your cousin. I’m certain.” 

“ Let us go back and make him tell.” 

“Nonsense. He’s too keen for that. He would worst 
us in such a game. He’s a sharper, Stan ; is astonished 
by our news, and he wants time to consider whether 
there is more money in helping you, or in throwing ob- 
stacles in your way. Let him cut out the running. You 
must have patience and wait.” 

“ I suppose you are right,” replied the artist. 

While the two friends were thus conversing, Molleson 
was walking up and down the room, slowly, muttering 
to himself : 

“ Well, this is a go indeed ! Lysaght with a fortune. 
So he sold those inventions without a word to me. 
While I was looking for the models and drawings they 
were the property of the Empire Mining Supplies Com- 
pany. Received the money on the i8th and died on the 
19th. And the money? Who has it ? With whom did 
he lodge it ? The first thing to do is to find who had it 
and who has it now, That’s the work for mo, The girl 


M/?. MOLLESON' S ACTIVITY. 


49 


I think I can find almost any time. But, by Jove, buried 
by charity and worth one hundred thousand dollars ! ” 

He caught up his hat and went into the bar. 

“ Jimmy, give me a pony of brandy, I must steady my 
nerves. How do I look, Jimmy,— pretty seedy, hey?” 

. “ Not now,” replied that candid individual. “ You 
are pulling yourself together. You looked pretty rough 
when you came in. Better have some Vichy with your 
brandy.” 

Molleson tossed off his drink, and with the remark 
that he had business down-town but would be in after 
dinner, hurried off, astonishing his friend by his un- 
wonted energy so early in the morning. 


CHAPTER VII. 

MR. MOLLESON’s activity. 

N ed was not entirely correct in the opinion he had 
formed of Molleson. That Stanley Lysaght the 
inventor had left a fortune was a surprise to him. And 
the surprise was genuine. But as to the whereabouts of 
the daughter he was not, as he had said, informed. 
True, he believed that he could discover it without diffi- 
culty. And he really had no motive in not so stating to 
the inventor’s nephew. The truth was, he did not intend 
to conceal his ability to find her, or the ability he thought 
he had. He was so astounded at learning that Lysaght 
had a fortune to leave, that he was thinking of nothing 
else. 

Just at that moment Molleson’s emotions were intense. 
Ideas crowded on his brain tumultuously. Hopes 
buried, ambitions smothered, intrigues forgotten, regrets 
dead of old age, were raised to life and revivified by the 


50 


VIVIER. 


Startling intelligence that the inventor had died rich — 
that Lysaght had sold his patents without his knowledge. 

Molleson, who was shrewd and sagacious, had deter- 
mined early that there “ was money in ” the ore-crushing 
machine, and he had schemed to get an interest in it. 
Failing to obtain it by trickery or persuasion, he had 
undertaken to purchase it, and at the very time he was 
negotiating a loan for that purpose, the inventor had died. 

At first he felicitated himself upon the death of the 
inventor, believing that he could lay his hands upon the 
drawings and models and use them exclusively to his 
own benefit, but when he searched he could not find. 
He did not yield easily, but as a diligent and long-con- 
tinued search did not reveal anything, he reluctantly 
gave it up, and finally persuaded himself and his friends 
that peath and some persons unknown to him, in collu- 
sion with the dread monster, had conspired to rob him 
of a fortune he was about to reap. 

Therefore, to learn after the lapse of sixteen years 
that the inventor, without even a remark to him, had 
turned the drawings and models into a fortune, astounded 
him, — in a man of less keen wit and control, it would 
have been bewilderment. 

Never before had any matter in which he had a finger, 
or tried to have one, gone on to completion without his 
knowing every move. Fail he might in his purposes, 
but not for want of knowledge of what was going for- 
ward. He felt as if he had been tricked, defrauded, that 
he had a direct interest and partnership in the money 
received for it. 

At all events certain considerations were clear. The 
money had disappeared ; the little daughter, a babe in 
fact, had not received it ; some one having no right to 
it, but who had taken advantage of the inventor’s death, 


MR. MOLLESOJV’S ACTIVITY. 


51 

had. Who ? To find that would put him in a position 
to demand what he hastily determined was his legitimate 
share. 

His conclusion was that he would immediately engage 
upon the enterprise. His realization was that the enter- 
prise, after a lapse of sixteen years, was a difficult one. 

These were the thoughts engaging his attention while 
he talked with Lysaght and Ned. And his prompt 
determination to engage immediately upon the work of 
tracing Lysaght, the inventor, step by step, from the 
moment of receiving the money to the instant of his 
death, was what had caused the surprise of his friend 
“ Jimmy.” 

Mr. Molleson was a gentleman of uncertain income 
and temper. The two were interdependent. When his 
pockets were full, he overflowed with generosity and 
good-humor ; when the exchequer was low, he was 
watchful of every penny of outgo, and was not an agree- 
able companion either in the home or social circle. As 
the fluctuations in his income were frequent and rapid, 
Mrs. Molleson reveled in luxury one day, and the next 
exercised a compulsory economy. Within a week she 
aroused the jealousies of her good friends and neighbors 
by displaying costly diamonds, and caused scornful 
remarks as to surreptitious visits to “ an uncle ” round 
the corner, which visits were followed by the temporary 
retirement of the obnoxious jewels. When the diamonds 
were on exhibition Mr. and Mrs. Molleson might have 
been pointed to as shining examples of connubial felic- 
ity ; when in retirement, the neighbors were treated to 
some striking instances of family jars. 

During the week following the visit of Lysaght and 
Ned, the causes of jealousy were not displayed. The 
friends of Molleson, over whom he exercised a consider^ 


52 


VIVIER. 


able influence by virtue of intellect, force of character, 
and a bitter tongue, were content to leave him much to 
himself. True to a practice from which he never devi- 
ated, when he had engrossing business he drank spar- 
ingly. The extraordinary brevity of his temper was 
thus accounted for by his companions. 

He had, however, little time for social relaxation. 
Many men came to see him at Hagan’s by appointment, 
with whom he had long and confidential consultations 
in the sheltering parlor. He himself made frequent 
excursions into strange and remote parts of the city, 
and was often seen among the merchants and the bankers. 

All this activity was directed toward the discovery of 
the missing fortune. On the same day Ned and Lysaght 
had called upon him, he had visited Mr. Devol, and 
though that gentleman was not favorably inclined to 
him, still, since Molleson represented that he had been 
employed by the artist to trace the child and the fortune, 
he was put in possession of all the information at the 
disposal of the president of the company. 

This was his starting-point in the search he had 
entered upon. That same day he called upon the 
lawyer Moore, to whom the inventor had gone after 
leaving the office when the money was paid him. It 
was not at first easy to arouse the recollection of the old 
lawyer, but upon getting the diary for the year 1871, the 
lawyer found that he had entered, under the head of 
the 22d of June of that year, an engagement or consul- 
tation for noon, to consider the placing in trust of the 
sum of $100,000 for the benefit of the child of the inven- 
tor. This entry proved to be the key to unlock the cells 
of memory of the old lawyer, and after some hard think- 
ing he was enabled to tell Molleson that the inventor 
bad come to hiiri when he was busy, and had briefly 


Af/^. MOLLESON'S ACTIVITY. 53 

Stated his purpose to place his newly acquired fortune 
in trust, reserving the income to himself during life, and 
making Mr. Vivier, of Vivier, Longman and Company, 
one of the trustees. Then, as he dwelt upon the matter, 
he recollected that the inventor had the money with 
him, and that he, the lawyer, had cautioned him against 
carrying so large a sum about with him, advising him 
to deposit it until he could invest it as he desired ; 
further, the lawyer had advised him to look into some 
securities that the Cannonbys, well known in “the 
street," were offering. 

Molleson thus had made one step forward. Lysaght 
had the money when he visited the lawyer. He went to 
Cannonby’s and sought the elder of the brothers. “ Did 
he ever know a man named Stanley Lysaght, the inven- 
tor ? " “ Oh, yes, he knew him well." “ Did Mr. Can- 

nonby recollect his calling on the i8th of June, 1875, 
about certain securities they were offering for sale ? " 
“Did he? Yes, very well, by reason of a quarrel he 
almost had with Mr. Lysaght that day, because he would 
not receive one hundred thousand dollars on deposit ; he 
had replied that they did not take deposits, and so were 
not prepared to be responsible for so large a sum ; it 
had made a great impression on him, since Mr. Lysaght 
had died suddenly the following day." “ Did Mr. Can- 
nonby know where Mr. Lysaght went after leaving his 
office?" “No, he didn’t, but he knew that he took a 
cab from his door, for Mr. Cannonby had walked with 
Mr. Lysaght to the pavement and talked about the 
securities until the cab came and Mr. Lysaght got in." 
“Was Mr. Molleson well acquainted with ‘the street’ of 
that day ? And did he know a cabman much trusted 
and employed by those who had large amounts of money 
to carry from bank to bank, named Dennis Burke?” 


54 


VIVIER. 


Mr. Molleson knew him very well, having frequently 
employed Burke himself.” “ Well, that was the man 
who had carried Lysaght from the door of the Can- 
nonbys.” 

One more step forward. Lysaght was' bound uptown, 
still having the money. To find trace of Burke was the 
work of three days. Molleson adopted the ingenious 
policy of finding the cabman who had been employed 
on the street the longest time. From him he learned 
the names of several who were employed similarly when 
he, the oldest cabman, had come among them, and thus 
traced back to the day of Dennis Burke, when he found 
one who could tell him that Dennis was now a prosper- 
ous liquor merchant on Third Avenue. 

Fortune favored the ingenious and industrious Mr. 
Molleson. The inventor was an old customer of Dennis 
Burke, and the story of how he had driven him only a 
few hours before his death was a favorite one with the 
ex-cabman, for he had builded a theory that, if the police 
had done their full duty, it would have been found that 
death was the consequence of the display of so much 
money. A few glasses of stout punch judiciously offered 
by Molleson put him in possession of all Burke knew, 
and it was not a little. 

Before entering his cab in Wall Street, Mr. Lysaght 
had told Dennis to drive to a stationery store on the 
corner of Nassau and Liberty streets ; there, alighting, 
the inventor had purchased a small tin box, with which 
he entered the cab and, before he gave further instruc- 
tions to Dennis, had taken what the ex-cabman declared 
was “a power of money” from an inside pocket and 
placed it in the box, locking it and safely putting the 
key in his pocket. After which he gave orders to be 
driven to University Place, the number of which, how- 


MR. MOLLE SOM'S ACTIVITY. $$ 

ever, Dennis had forgotten, but on reaching there had 
further instructed Dennis to drive to the Fifth Avenue 
Hotel, where he had gotten out with the tin box, entered 
the hotel, and soon returned without it. Then he was 
driven back to the house where he had stopped, in Uni- 
versity Place. On dismissing Dennis, the inventor had 
told him to call for him at nine o’clock the next morn- 
ing. Prompt at the hour Dennis was on hand and Mr. 
Lysaght was taken to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, which he 
entered, and after some delay returned with the tin box 
and was, under his instructions, taken to Pine Street and 
Broadway. There, opposite No. 3, he had alighted, and 
paying Dennis for both drives had dismissed him. The 
next Dennis heard of him, he was dead in a Fifth Avenue 
stage that very afternoon. 

Here Molleson’s good fortune ended. All trace was 
lost of the inventor. He had reached No. 3 Pine Street 
at half- past ten. By dilligent inquiry Molleson* dis- 
covered that at eleven he had entered the office of a 
Mr. Macdiarmid, a railway contractor, and, as he sub- 
sequently learned, one Lysaght had designed as a trus- 
tee. Here he had spent the time until he went out to 
take that stage which had proved to be his death couch. 
Molleson further learned from Mr. Macdiarmid that 
Lysaght told him that he had temporarily deposited his 
money that morning, pending the preparation of the 
trust and its investment. But where he had spent the 
half-hour intervening, Molleson’s energetic labors could 
not reveal. His inquiry among bankers, banks, and safe- 
deposit vaults were exhaustive and systematic, but una- 
vailing. The inventor seemed to have disappeared into 
space with the tin box at half-past ten, to reappear at 
eleven without it. 


5 ^ 


VIVIER. 


CHAPTER- VIII. 

HAPPENINGS OF MOMENT. 

F our days had passed since Lysaght’s return to the 
cit3^ No letters had come from Ines. He was 
worried, anxious, unhappy. He had confidently ex- 
pected to find one at his studio upon his return from the 
interview with Molleson. True, it was the day after his 
return, but then Ines had promised to write, and had 
not. He knew it was quite childish to be so disap- 
pointed ; a thousand things might have occurred to have 
prevented her. But then his case was peculiar and his 
anxiety was excusable. He had no assurance from Ines 
that she regarded him any more warmly than the other 
persons she had met. He had her yet to win. Late in 
the afternoon a thought occurred to him, from which he 
extracted great comfort. Ines was modest, unusually 
so. Doubtless she rebelled against initiating a corre- 
spondence. It was awfully stupid of him to have placed 
her in that position. Accordingly he wrote her at once, 
wrote her ardently, and begged that she would reply 
immediately. The letter would reach her on the third 
day of his return, and the reply would come to him on 
the fourth ; but on that day there was no letter. 

On the morning of the fifth day he went to his studio 
in an unenviable frame of mind. Added to his great 
disappointment was the heavy responsibility resting upon 
him to find this lost cousin and the prospective fortune. 
His life, heretofore uneventful and quiet, was now so 
broken and disturbed that he could not settle himself to 
anything. Life was unsatisfactory. Everything was at 
cross-purposes. 

As he entered the building in which was his studio, 


HAPPENINGS OF MOMENT. 57 

the janitor handed him a small package and two letters. 
He hastily glanced at the- superscription and postmarks. 
The one was in a female hand, and the other Albany. 
The dingy passageway was suddenly flooded with sun- 
light. He ran upstairs rapidly, closed the door after 
him and locked it. He tore off the wrapper from the 
package. The little volume of Hood he had given Ines 
was revealed. 

He was stunned. It was as if he had been dealt a severe 
blow. It dropped from his hand and he sat looking at 
it, not daring to open the letters, which he knew ex- 
plained its return. He was faint and sick at heart. 
By and by he plucked up courage and opened the first 
presenting itself. It began with great formality: 

“ Mr. Stanley Lysa'ght : 

“ Sir, — I return the book which you, taking advantage 
of her innocence and lack of knowledge of the world, 
induced in so surreptitious and ungentlemanlike manner, 
my charge. Miss Ines Alloway, to accept. 

“ I have no doubt, profiting by an accidental meeting, 
repeated again and again without the knowledge of 
those responsible for her well-being, you have amused 
yourself with playing upon the emotional and romantic 
nature of an unsophisticated girl. But even were it 
otherwise, were you to address her in all sincerity, the 
acquaintance and correspondence must cease. Those 
who have cared for Miss Alloway from her childhood 
have marked out her future for her, and you will not be 
permitted to interfere with the plans all wisely made. 

“ I forbid you to have further communication, either 
oral or epistolary, with her in the future. 

“ I am. Sir, 

“ Imogene Humphrey.” 

Angered and alarmed as Lysaght was by this letter, 
he nevertheless found great pleasure in the belief that it 
was not Ines who had returned the book — that it had 


VI VI Ell 


58 

been taken from her and sent by the writer of the letter 
he had just read he was quite sure. 

With feverish haste he opened the other. Its begin- 
ning was hardly less formal : 

“ Mr. Stanley Lysaght : 

“ Dear Sir : — I have been forbidden to write this 
letter, but I am unwilling that you should think I have 
deliberately failed in my promise. Your call at Mr. 
Cooper’s house was the first trouble, and I could not 
write then. Your letter fell into Mrs. Humphrey’s 
hands, and I was made to tell all about our acquaint- 
ance. I have been scolded and told I was having secret 
and surreptitious meetings with an unknown man, which 
was very wrong. The book you gave me was taken 
away by Mrs. Humphrey, but I had read it all through 
I have been toltl that I must never talk to you or see 
you again, and must not think of answering your letter. 
But, if I am not to see you again or hear from you, how 
are you to love me ? Or, to make me love you ? I have 
written this letter to let you know what the matter is. I 
shall not write you another letter, for I promised I would 
not, only I said to myself I would write you this one to 
tell you why I do not write. Mrs. Humphrey does not 
know I met you after she had seen you. Thope you 
will not forget me. I will never forget you. I am very 
unhappy and cannot go to the hill now, for it is very 
lonely there. 

“ Your friend and well-wisher, 

“ Ines Alloway.” 

The artist covered the letter with his kisses. He read 
her heart clearly through the stiff and formal phrase- 
ology, better probably than the girl did herself. Give 
her up ? No, never ! If the difficulties were a thousand ^ 
times greater, he would not give her up. He had won 
her fairly, and he would not be deprived of his rights. 
It was monstrous to think of separating them. There 
never was such a cruel injustice suggested in the whole 
history of the world. He would go back at once and 


HAPPENINGS OF MOMENT. 59 

demand her. He would settle this matter very quickly, 
now that he knew that Ines loved him. 

He sprang up, picked up the book, and threw it upon 
a table. Seizing his hat he dashed out, neglecting to 
lock the door — even to close it. He was hardly out of 
sight when Ella Newton, whom he had summoned to a 
sitting, entered the building and passed up to his studio. 
The door was wide open and she entered. Not finding 
the artist, but supposing him to have stepped out for a 
moment, she hastily prepared herself, and mounting the 
platform, waited in smiling expectancy for his return. 

Shortly she heard a step on the stairs ; it came nearer 
and nearer, and in walked,, not the artist, but Mr. Vivier 
the younger. 

She had turned upon him with a merry remark, which 
was lost in a deep blush when she saw who it was. 

Vivier bowed respectfully and passed on to look behind 
the easel. The chair was empty. 

Where is our artistic friend ? ” he asked. 

The girl, stepping down from the platform with much 
embarrassment, replied by telling him how on coming 
she had found the door open and no one in. 

“ He cannot be far off,” he remarked pleasantly, “since 
he certainly has been here this morning. He will be 
back soon enough.” 

While waiting they engaged in conversation, and Vivier 
found himself much interested in the brightness and 
vivacity of his companion. The moments sped rapidly, 
neither noting their flight, until the ringing of bells and 
the screaming of whistles announced the noon hour. 

“Twelve o’clock,” exclaimed Ned, in great surprise. 
“ Is it possible ? ” 

The girl blushed deeply. She rose and hurriedly put 
on her hat. 


6o 


VIVIER. 


“ Twelve,” she said, alarmed. “Why, where can Mr. 
Lysaght be ? I must go home. I cannot wait longer. 
To think,” she added, with a deep blush, “ I should have 
stopped alone so long with a — ” 

“ Stranger,” said Vivier, completing the sentence for 
her as she hesitated. “ Let us be strangers no longer, 
Miss Newton,” he continued with a smile, extending 
his hand. “ You see I know your name ; mine is Ed- 
mund Vivier.” 

“ Oh, I know it,” she replied shyly. “ Mr. Lysaght 
told me what it was.” 

“ Did he, indeed ? — and gave me a very bad character, 
I presume ? ” 

“No, indeed,” cried the girl heartily. “ He said you 
were his best friend, and praised you highly.” 

“ Oh, Lysaght can be decent when he tries hard.” 

The girl turned on him indignantly, but perceiving a 
roguish smile upon his face, smiled in return and said : 

“ You are making fun. Only dear friends and enemies 
say such things, and you are not his enemy.” 

“ I will be,” he answered, “ if he drives me off the 
next time I come in and find you here. But he ca'nnot 
do it now, can he, for hereafter we shall be old acquaint- 
ances. Shall we not ?” 

The girl did not reply so readily this time, but grew a 
rosy red. He waited for an answer, and so she said 
shyly : 

“ I suppose so.” 

She lifted a wrap from the chair, and Vivier stepped 
forward quickly and gallantly placed it on her shoulders. 

“ What is to be done about the door,” she asked. 

“ ril lock it, and leave the key with the janitor,” he 
replied. 

Together they descended the stairs. On the pave^ 


HAPPENINGS OF MOMENT. 

ment the girl hesitated as if expecting to part with 
Vivier. That young gentleman, however, took his place 
at her side, saying : 

“ In which direction do you walk ? ” 

“ I go down Fourth Avenue. It is not your way.” 

“ I’ll make it mine if you do not forbid it.” 

Ella was embarrassed and did not reply. Vivier led 
the way. She followed, desiring to protest, but unable 
to find words with which to do so without giving offense. 
If Vivier observed her embarrassment he gave no sign, 
but chatted away pleasantly until, under the cover of his 
light talk, the girl regained her self-possession. They 
walked on until they reached a corner several blocks 
below Twenty-third Street. Here Ella stopped and was 
about to say something, when a little girl came up to her 
crying : 

“ Oh, Miss Ella, I’m so glad I’ve met you. I was 
going after you. Something dreadful has happened 
at your house. I was going after you, — they sent me 
for you.” 

“ Something dreadful ! ” cried Ella, greatly alarmed. 
“ Oh, what is it ? Tell me quickly.” 

“ I don’t know,” replied the little girl excitedly. “ In- 
deed I don’t. Your mother is crying awful. And your 
brother is there, and another man, and, and — ” 

Ella did not wait to hear. She hurried down the 
cross-street, closely followed by Vivier. She did not 
seem to know he was with her, so frightened was she. 
Arriving at a modest brick dwelling about midway be- 
tween Third and Fourth avenues, she climbed the steps 
to the front door, which was opened by a small girl, evi- 
dently a servant. 

‘‘ What has happened, Sarah ? ” she asked. “ What is 
the matter ? ” 


62 


VIVIEIi. 


“ I don’t know, Miss Ella,” replied the servant ; 
“ They have sent for you, and they are in the back 
parlor.” 

Turning in at the doer at her right hand she entered 
the room, Vivier immediately behind her. The front 
room was so darkened that the objects it contained were 
hardly to be discerned. The windows in the back room 
were opened sufficiently to admit light. 

On an old-fashioned sofa covered with hair-cloth sat 
a middle-aged woman, whom Vivier recognized as the 
one he had seen on several occasions at Lysaght’s studio 
with Ella, and therefore conjectured was Mrs. Newton. 
She was wringing her hands and swaying her body back- 
ward and forward, moaning : 

“ It is a judgment upon me — a judgment on my own 
wrong-doing.” 

This she repeated again and again. 

Ella hurried to her, throwing herself upon her knees 
and winding her arms about her waist, crying : 

“ What is it, mother dear ? What has happened ? 
Tell me, dear.” 

At the windows sat two men on opposite sides of the 
room. One was a man perhaps thirty-five, seated upon 
a chair the back of which was against the window, while 
his own back was leaning against the old-fashioned 
piano, looking with grave and severe countenance at the 
other. 

This other was a young man of not more than twenty- 
two or three, the picture of woe and shame. There was 
an air of cheap smartness about him. His clothes were 
of cheap material, cut in ultra-fashionable style. His 
carefully cultivated bang retained the form in which it 
had been elaborately trained. 

Ned began to feel embarrassment, as if he were an 


HAPPENINGS OF MOMENT. 


63 


intruder. He did not fail to observe the astonishment 
his entrance caused both men. He was about to with- 
draw, when he was surprised to hear himself addressed 
by the man at the piano. 

Good-morning, Mr. Vivier. This is bad business.” 

“ Tell me about it,” said Ned, “ I am in the dark.” 

The man arose, and leaning with his elbow on the 
piano, said : 

“ It’s the old story of boys wanting to spend more 
than they can earn.” 

From his recital it appeared that the young man, who 
was a son of Mrs. Newton, was employed in the office of 
a stockbroker of the name of Noyes, a friend of Ned’s ; 
that he was bright and active and a great favorite of Mr. 
Noyes ; that some six months previous small sums had 
been missed, which peculations continued from time to 
time, the sums growing larger, until, about ten days pre- 
vious, the amount was one hundred dollars. Then a 
trap had been laid, and the mouse caught was young 
Newton, to their great surprise, for he had not been 
under suspicion, since his day was spent on “ Change.” 
He had taken five hundred dollars on this occasion, and 
had been under surveillance, for the money was marked. 
But he had expended none of it, and had that morn- 
ing gone as usual to the office. Here he had been 
confronted with the fact and charged with the steal- 
ing by the cashier, for such was the man telling the 
story. Young Newton had broken down and con- 
fessed. 

“ He had stowed the money away here in the house,” 
said the cashier, ending the tale, “and so 1 came up 
with him. Here it is.” 

The cashier, with a grim laugh, took a roll of bills 
from his pocket. 


64 


VIVIER. 


“ Does Mr. Noyes know of this ? ” asked Ned after a 
moment of silence. 

“ No,” replied the man. “ He has been in Chicago. 
He is on his way home, and will be in to-night on the 
Central Limited.” 

“ What do you propose to do with the lad ? ” asked 
Vivier. 

“ There’s the rub. I don’t know what. What I ought 
to do is to turn him over to the police. But then it will 
be made public, and I don’t know whether Noyes will 
want that.” 

Vivier reflected a moment or two, and then asked : 

“ How much has he taken?”* 

“ Besides this $500 ? Perhaps, five hundred more.” 

“ Leave the boy in my hands,” said Ned, after a few 
minutes of further reflection. “ I will be responsible to 
Mr. Noyes for him, and for your act in letting me have 
him. I’ll send you a check for the amount he has taken 
in the past, so there will be no loss.” 

Glad to escape from a perplexing dilemma, the cashier 
eagerly embraced the offer, saying that he supposed Mr. 
Vivier would, if called *upon, produce the lad. 

Receiving an answer in the affirmative, the cashier 
took his hat and his leave, pleased to be away from a 
scene that had become distressing. 

Ned approached the mother and daughter. 

“ Miss Newton,” he said, addressing Ella, “I beg you 
will not regard me as an intruder. I have interfered 
because I believe I can be of service to you. You will 
perceive that the man who came with your brother 
has gone.” 

The mother and daughter looked about them with 
surprise, and regarded Ned with interest. 

“ The employer of your brother,” continued Ned, “ is 


HAPPENINGS OF MOMENT, 65 

an intimate friend. He is not at home at present, and 
his representative was doubtful as to the course he 
should pursue. I proposed to relieve him from his 
responsibility, and have taken your brother in charge. I 
think I can save him from the consequences of his 
wrong-doing.” 

The two women cast upon him such looks of pro- 
found gratitude that Ned felt that he was well repaid 
for his interference. 

“ May Heaven bless you ! ” exclaimed the mother. 

Ella, her eyes filled with tears, took his hand and 
pressed it, but was unable to speak. 

Ned went to the young man, who had been furtively 
regarding the scene, and who, looking upon Vivier as 
an officer of the law, shrank from him as he approached, 
and said : 

“ This is bad business you have been engaged in. 
You deserve to be severely punished, and if you are not, 
it will not be by reason of any regard or sympathy for 
you, but because there is‘ both for your mother and 
sister, upon whom you have brought this disgrace. I 
have interfered in your behalf because of the pity I have 
for those who love you. If you do escape punishment 
it will not be the first time a scamp has been helped 
because of those who loved him. You will not be 
arrested to-day ; perhaps not at all. But unless I have 
assurance from you that you will not attempt to leave 
this house until I return to-morrow, I will make 
none.” 

“ I don’t want to go anywhere,” whimpered the lad ; 
“ I want to hide myself.” 

“ I want to hear you in my presence promise your 
mother that you will be strictly obedient to her wishes 
until I return. Come.” 


66 


VIVIER. 


He led the lad to his mother, where he made the 
promise required. 

“ Oh, Dick, Dick ! ” moaned the mother. How 
could you ? ” 

“ Go to your room,” said Vivier sternly. 

The young man turned obediently and left the apart- 
ment. 

To Ella, Ned said : 

Do not talk to him about this affair. Neither chide 
nor sympathize with him. Leave him to his reflections 
until to-morrow. Suspense will do him no harm. But 
do you trust in me. I am quite certain I can save him 
from the consequences of his act. I cannot see his 
employer until this evening when he returns to the city.” 

He took his hat and moved toward the door. Ella 
followed him. 

“You cannot know,” she said to him in the hall, “how 
grateful mother and I are to you. It is so good of you 
to help us in our trouble, for it is a very great one. 
Mother is so fond of Dick, and has been so proud of 
him. If I do not express how grateful we are, it is 
because I cannot find words suffiicent. We have no 
claims upon you.” 

“You know,” interrupted Ned, with a smile, as he 
extended his hand, “ we agreed to be friends this morn- 
ing, and we do have claims upon our friends.” 

The girl blushed deeply and protested : 

“ But this is so great a service. It is so great a thing 
to do, that I cannot understand how you should take our 
troubles on yourself.” 

She was so earnest and looked so gratefully up to 
him that Ned could not contain himself. He said 
warmly, and even tenderly : 

“Your brother is extremely fortunate, in his sister! ” 


A CONSPIRACY. 67 

Then, fearing he had said too much, he opened the 
door and passed out quickly. 


CHAPTER IX. 

^ A CONSPIRACY. 

O N the pavement, as he turned in the direction of 
Fourth Avenue, Ned asked himself why he had 
interfered in behalf of the young man. He laughed as 
he admitted it was neither because of any regard he had 
for the youngster, nor by reason of any sympathy for the 
mother. Unblushingly he confessed that his motive had 
been to win the gratitude of the charming sister, to 
ingratiate himself in her favor and magnify his own 
importance. To what end ? He asked himself this 
question, and grew grave over it. The contract he had 
entered into with his father presented itself. He was no 
longer a free man. He was fettered, and his fetters 
galled and chafed. He loathed the unknown woman to 
whom his father sought to bind him. He was not will- 
ing to admit that Ella had more than a passing attrac- 
tion, or that, if she had, he could or would marry her. 
They moved in widely separated circles. He had sought 
her acquaintance through capricious impulse. When the 
opportunity presented itself he had been moved without 
consideration to place him.self es a benefactor before her. 
To what did it all tend ? What was to be the result ? 
He tired of the subject by the time he reached the 
corner of Fourth Avenue and Twenty-third Street, and 
climbed the stairs to Lysaght’s studio. 

The artist was closing his door preparatory to going 
out. 

Heavens, Ned, but I am glad you’re come ! ” he 


68 


VIVIER. 


cried. “ I have been searching for you everywhere, and 
.was going out for another hunt.” 

“ Had you remained in your studio you would have , 
found me,” replied Ned. “ I spent the morning waiting 
for you.” 

Noticing the anxious face of his friend, he exclaimed : 

‘‘ What is the matter, Stan ? What has gone wrong ? ” 

“Come in,” replied the artist, throwing open the door. 
“I’ve had bad news.” 

“From the fortune? From the cousin?” eagerly 
inquired Ned. 

“Neither. Fromlnes.” 

Motioning his friend to a seat, the artist went to his desk 
and took out the letters he had that morning received. 

“ Read them,” he said. “ They will best explain my 
trouble. Read this one first,” he continued, extending 
Mrs. Humphrey’s letter. 

Ned did so, carefully, and when he was through 
handed it back without remark. Lysaght exchanged it 
for the one written by Ines. 

Ned read that one as carefully. When he had finished 
he asked: 

“ What do you propose to do ?” 

“ I do not know what course to pursue. I want your 
advice. My first impulse was to go there forthwith. 
Indeed, under that impulse I rushed out to take the 
train. But a second thought suggested it were well to 
consider the matter awhile.” 

“You were wise. You could accomplish nothing by 
going now.” 

“ I could see Ines and learn .how she feels about this 
abominable scheme to marry her off.” 

“ That would be interesting to know doubtless, but at 
this particular juncture not important.” 


A CONSPIRACY. 69 

“ Don’t treat this matter with levity, Ned,” said Ly- 
saght severely. 

“ I never was more serious in my life.” 

“ Well, I could see this woman, who has written this 
insulting letter.” 

“ To do what ? Quarrel with her? ” 

Lysaght cast an angry glance upon Ned. 

“That is just what you would do in your present 
frame of mind,” continued Ned. “ You are even ready 
to quarrel with me now because I oppose your proposi- 
tions. Why, Stan, if you were to go there, you would 
not be permitted to see the girl. And from the tone of 
her letter I do not think Mrs. Humphrey would see you 
either.” 

“ I could go there quietly and wait my opportunity to 
see Ines, by accident as it were.” 

“ Man alive, you could not get into that country with- 
out its being known and a triple guard put on the girl.” 

“ rd force my way to her.” 

“ Nonsense. You are not using your common sense. 
Come, Ned, let us reason this thing out together. Sit 
down. What is the situation ? Let me set it forth, as it 
seems to me. You go up into this country and meet a 
young lady with whom you fall in love. You do not 
know who she is, who her parents are, whether she has 
any, or what her antecedents are. All you know is that 
her name is Ines Alloway, — a name which sounds to me 
like a manufactured one. She is under the care of a 
woman named Mrs. Humphrey, who, according to all the 
testimony you can gather, ‘shuts up like a jack-knife’ 
when the subject of her antecedents or those of the girl 
are mentioned. These two have lived in a simple- 
minded community for ten or fifteen years ; they have 
been surrounded by all the comforts and luxuries wealth 


70 


VIVIER. 


can buy, which have been paid for by a person in the 
background, who in all this time has made but two ap- 
pearances — once when he brought them to their present 
residence, and again about three months ago. Yet in 
this simple-minded community, where the coming and 
going of a stranger is an event of the greatest impor- 
tance, his name has not been made known. Is there not 
something singular and mysterious about all this ? So 
far as this gossiping and inquisitive community has 
been able to ascertain, the only thread connecting these 
two people with the world from which they came is this 
man, whose identity has remained unknown.” 

“ Well, suppose all this is granted. How does it 
affect me ? ” 

“ Well,” replied Ned, somewhat taken back that his 
eloquence had not produced a greater effect, — “ well, 
perhaps it doesn't affect you in any way, but it would 
suggest to most men the advisability of discovering 
something about the antecedents of a girl he is propos- 
ing to love before he has irretrievably committed him- 
self. Few men are anxious to marry a mystery, with a 
world of possible complications as a consequence.” 

“ My dear Ned,” cried Lysaght impatiently, “ it is you 
who are talking nonsense now. ‘ Proposing to love why, 
I love her now. ‘ Committing myself ’ ? I have com- 
mitted myself to the full extent. Pshaw ! I don’t want 
to marry her antecedents. I want to marry her.” 

“ But you do marry her antecedents when you marry 
a woman.” 

Lysaght made an angry and impatient gesture. 

“ Of course, I do not expect you to take my sugges- 
tions kindly or sensibly. You would not be Stanley 
Lysaght if you did,” continued Ned. “ Well, if I cannot 
bring you to a consideration of this point, let us go for- 


A CONSPIRACY. 


71 


ward. After having declared your love to this girl, it is 
discovered by her guardian, who informs you promptly 
that 3ipu must bury your aspirations, because those who 
have cared for her from her childhood have made other 
plans for her. Who has made other plans ? Why, the 
man in the background. These plans have not been 
discovered as yet to the girl. Her letter indicates that, 
and makes clear the other fact, that she has formed an 
affection for you. Now to apply these considerations to 
your situation. First, inasmuch as your intrusion .into 
their affairs has necessitated this significant letter, it 
shows that Mrs. Humphrey is alarmed at the damage 
you have already done — shows alarm and the necessity 
for immediate action on her part. It may be safely 
inferred then, that the man in the background has been 
informed already and measures have been taken to pre- 
vent your access to the girl. Indeed, I would not be 
surprised to find you were under surveillance at this very 
moment. I do not believe you could set out on your 
journey without the alarm being given. As this matter 
is under the direction of the man in the background, no 
demand you might make would result in any yielding to 
you. No,” concluded Ned ; “ in my opinion any effort 
upon your part to see the girl would end in her being 
whisked out of sight, and any demand upon Mrs. Hum- 
phrey would end in failure.” 

“What then,” exclaimed Lysaght, irritably, “am I to 
sit idly by, twirling my thumbs, while she is forced into 
an odious marriage ? ” 

“ No,” said Ned calmly. “ But there is no immediate 
cause for haste or anxiety. It seems to me that the best 
method to pursue is to cultivate by your demeanor the 
idea entertained by Mrs. Humphrey, that your associa- 
tion with Ines was a mere flirtation, to while away the 


72 


VIVIER. 


hours you spent in that country, in the mean time, 
discover some method by which you can surreptitiously 
communicate with the girl, making her understand the 
danger she is in and the plan you are pursuing.” 

“ And afterwards ? ” 

“You will have time to consider whethet there is a 
possibility of your overcomingthe opposition presented, or 
whether you will elope with her and marry her in spite of 
opposition ; that is, if you are determined to marry her ? ” 

“Determined !,” cried Lysaght, scornfully; “I do not 
propose to be robbed of the girl whom I have won hon- 
estly and in an open and manly fashion. That our 
meetings were, or rather have the appearance of being 
surreptitious was purely the result of accident. I won 
her fairly, and I’ll have her despite all dragons in female 
clothes and men in the background.” 

“ Well, I have given you my best judgment.” 

Lysaght jumped up and paced up and down the room 
fiercely. Ned did not interrupt him. 

“ I believe you are right,” said the artist, at length. 
“ I do not like the idea of concealment or of a secret 
correspondence with Ines. But I see no other course, at 
present at least. I believe your advice is good.” 

“ If you are bound to go forward in this matter,” said 
Ned, “ conceive some means of reaching the girl without 
discovery. Make no open attempt, for then they will 
believe that your interest in her was so slight that the 
Humphrey letter has driven you off, and their alarm will 
diminish, while their suspicions will be allayed.” 

Lysaght listened to him attentively, but did not reply. 

Suddenly, as if inspired by a new idea, he cried. 

“The very thing. I have told you about the boy at 
the farmer’s where I stop? He is attached to me. I 
have won his devotion. I have promised him a few days 


A CONSPIJ^ACY. 73 

in New York. I’ll send for him at once and make him the 
medium of communications.” 

“Can you rely on his secrecy and discretion?” asked 
Ned. 

“Absolutely, and on his intelligence.” 

“Then your way is clear.” 

Lysaght was quite delighted over the prospect, and glee- 
fully outlined his plans.' Having listened to all he had to 
say, Ned told Lysaght of his adventure of the morning, and 
his promise to interfere in behalf of Elia’s brother. 

The artist grew grave over Ned’s recital. 

“I do not like it,” he said. 

“What?” inquired Ned. “Trying to save the boy? It 
is something like compounding felony, I admit.” 

“Pshaw. You know what I mean. Ned, you interfered 
in this matter because of Ella. What do you mean by it? 
You win the girl’s gratitude, fill her with notions of your great 
nobleness, gain her love, and what then?” 

Ned laughed, colored slightly, and shifted uneasily in his 
chair. 

“Is it fair?” continued Lysaght. “You are bound by 
pledges to your father. If you win her love, would you if 
you could, and could you if you would, marry her? I don’t 
like it, old man, indeed I don’t. She is a sweet, charming, 
trusting girl, and you have no right to make her life 
unhappy.” 

“You go very fast, my friend!” said Ned, nettled by 
Stanley’s earnestness. “No harm has been done, none will 
be. You proceed upon the assumption that I am irresisti- 
ble. My modesty refuses to permit it. But whatever harm 
has been or will be done, you are responsible for. If you will 
forsake your studio, leaving it open to be occupied by charm- 
ing girls and susceptible friends, why, accept the responsi- 
bility, grin and bear it, but don’t preach. For myself I 


74 


VIVIER. 


accept nothing, neither responsibility nor consequences. 
Within the past twelve hours I have become morally irres- 
ponsible. I have taken to the downward path.^ My descent 
is frightful but exhilerating. Nothing can be expected of a 
man who begins the day by compounding a felony, shielding 
a wrong-doer from justice, and ends up with entering into 
a conspiracy to outrage society by assisting and counseling 
in an elopement. The consequences be on your head. I 
accept nothing.” 

Ned thus lattled on to cover his own twinges of consci- 
ence, and there was so much sting in the latter part of his 
remarks that Lysaght would not answer. 

They parted shortly after, a little chafed and irritated 
both, Ned going in search of his friend Noyes. 

He found the broker, as he expected he would, at the 
Union League. He had less difficulty even than he antici- 
pated in his enterprise. 

Noyes listened attentively to Ned’s recital and expressed 
great annoyance, not so much because of the peculation, 
but because it involved young Newton. When Ned pleaded 
for the lad, holding out as an argument that possibly the 
young man might be saved to a useful life by judicious 
leniency, Noyes so readily fell in with the idea that Ned 
was astonished. 

“How widely spread is the knowledge of this theft?” 
asked the broker. 

‘Tt is confined to your cashier and one clerk.” 

“I see no great difficulty in letting up on the fellow,” 
said the broker. “But, by George I am sorry he has gotten 
into this scrape. He is a bright, likely young fellow. I 
am really sorry to lose him, for he is as quick as a flash, 
comprehends your meaning at once, you know, and exe- 
cutes rapidly and accurately. The value of this in a quick 
movement you see is very great. Yes, we’ll let him go.” 


A CONSPIRACY. 75 

The readiness with which Noyes yielded, inspired Ned 
with a scheme that at least had the merit of audacity. 

“You might go a step farther, and not do badly,” he 
insinuated. 

The broker bent an inquiring glance upon Ned. 

“Give me your attention a moment,” said Ned earnestly. 
“ You evidently like the lad.” 

“I do, ’ ’ assented the broker. ‘ ‘Quick, active, bright, will- 
ing and cheerful, he is a pleasant, useful fellow to have about 
you. If he had gone straight, I would have made a man of 
him.” 

“You have a greater opportunity now to make a man of 
him,” continued Ned. “He is as bright as he ever was. 
Suppose you should take him into your office to-morrow 
morning, show him the consequences of the courses he has 
entered upon, the ruin it must bring upon himself and all 
connected with him, touch his pride and ambition by show- 
ing him the qualities for success in life and business he pos- 
sesses, your own regret that he has done this thing and 
forfeited your esteem, and then win his gratitude and affec- 
tion by telling him you will give him an opportunity to 
retrieve his reputation and regain your regard — you would 
be doing a good thing for yourself and a truly Christian act. ’ ’ 

“But not a business-like act,” laughed the broker, not 
displeased by Ned’s suggestion. “What is your interest in 
the young cub?” 

“None, but I do have sympathy for his mother and sis- 
ter,” answered Ned. 

“Is the sister pretty?” asked the broker, winking. 

“You mistake the motive,” replied Ned stiffly, wincing 
nevertheless. 

“Well, Vivier, ” said the broker, “there is a good deal in 
what you say. I am rather inclined to try the experiment, 
not perhaps for the reasons you urge, but for the selfish one 


76 


VJVIER. 


that the fellow is confoundedly useful to me T tell you 
what, bring the youngster down yourself to-morrow morn- 
ing, and we’ll lecture him together.” 

Delighted with his success, so much beyond his expecta- 
tion, and indeed his intentions in the beginning, picturing 
in his mind the glad and grateful brown eyes of Ella when 
she came to know, Ned ran to the writing-room to inform 
her of the good news, and to impress upon her the neces- 
sity of having her brother in readiness to go with him on 
the following day to the office. 

There was no break in the programme, and before noon 
the young man was in the performance of his old duties, 
saddened and subdued, but determined to justify the kind- 
ness. And here we may leave him, with the remark that 
life’s tangle is an insolvable problem. A good result — a life 
saved — is the outcome of an act the motive of which, if not 
ignoble, was at least one that could not be highly com- 
mended. 


CHAPTER X, 


MOLLESON S DECISIVE STEP, 


HE unexpected turn in Lysaght’s love affairs put every- 



1 thing else into the background. How to secretly com- 
municate with Ines, and maintain such secret communication, 
occupied the mind of the artist to the exclusion of every- 
thing else. Busy with this intrigue, he had lightly tossed 
aside the notes received from Molleson, informing him of 
the progress or want of progress the latter was making in his 
search for the missing cousin. These notes were devices 
upon the part of the ingenious Mr. Molleson to allay any 
feeling of impatience which might arise in the breast of the 
artist. The fact was, that not a moment had been devoted 


11 


MOLLESON'S DECISIVE STEP. 

to finding the whereabouts of the daughter of the inventor, 
and all energies were bended to the discovery of the place 
of deposit of the missing fortune. 

Had Molleson known the truth — how little Lysaght cared 
for the search he was supposed to be making while worrying 
about Ines, he would have been easier in his mind. As it 
was, fearing that Lysaght’ s patience would be soon exhausted 
by the long-continued story of delay and obstacle, and 
would institute other means of search which would interfere 
with his purposes, he was redoubling his energies to close up 
that gap of one half-hour, concerning which he had been 
unable to obtain the slightest information. In fact he was 
but little nearer the end than he was when he began. 

A few mornings after Ned had succeeded in having Dick 
Newton reinstated in his duties in . Noyes’s office, Molleson 
stood in Pine Street, opposite No. 3, a spot which had for 
him an irresistible fascination. Here was where the inventor 
was last seen with the tin box in his hand. From here he 
had gone to put the money in a place of safety. Where? 
Again and again Molleson returned to the spot as if he 
would compel the very flag-stones to show him the impres- 
sions of the inventor’s feet. On this particular morning, he 
was saying to himself : 

“Why is it I can get no further? Wherein have I 
failed?” 

He reviewed minutely every step he had made in the 
search, considered well every point. At length, speaking 
aloud, he said: 

“I have done everything that I can suggest to myself — 
that is, everything I can personally do. It is clear that 
what more can be done can be done only by those having 
authority to move. To put that authority into motion is to 
deprive myself of benefit when the end is reached. The 
next thing to do is to employ apparent authority — a lawyer 


78 


VIVIER. 


and a detective. That requires money, and money I have 
not.” 

He walked slowly away to Nassau Street with his head 
bent to the pavement, and at the corner halted, leaning 
against the iron railing, pondering deeply. At length, as if 
he had determined upon his course of action, he straight- 
ened himself and muttered: 

‘‘It must be done. I must have money. I can not go 
on without it. I hate to do it, but it is make or break 
with me. The last time I saw him, he warned me never to 
go to him again. He meant it, too. That is the worst of 
that man, he means what he says. If I go, I must play my 
best card, and it is my last one — the one I have been saving 
as a protection. But, — here goes.” 

He turned briskly on his heel and rapidly made his way 
to Wall Street and down that street toward William, until 
he reached the banking-house of Vivier, Longman and Com- 
pany. Hesitating a moment at the threshold, he went in. 
Nearly opposite the door was a gray-haired man busy at his 
desk. He looked up and, as he saw who entered, an 
expression of surprise flitted across his face. 

‘‘Ah, Harry, is that you,” he said. 

‘‘Myself in person,” replied Molleson, nervously. ‘‘Is 
the chief in?” 

‘‘Yes; in his office.” 

Molleson passed leisurely down the long passage formed 
by the wall on one side and a long row of desks surmounted 
by an iron railing on the other, and reaching the door of 
Mr. Vivier's room, pushed it open, entering boldly. 

The banker, engaged at his desk, lifted his head to see 
who entered. Perceiving it to be Molleson, he scowled 
fiercely, and without turning his body said: 

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you here 
again?” 


MOLLESON'S DECISIVE STEP. 


79 


“I have a vague recollection of some such remark,” 
replied his visitor, outwardly cool. 

“Why do you come then?” sternly demanded the banker. 

“It has been my observation,” said Molleson, as he 
drew a chair from the wall and deliberately sat himself 
down, “in my somewhat varied career that people do not get 
all they want in this world. You do not want me to come 
here, and yet here I am.” 

The brows of the banker came closer together, and the 
frown deepened. 

“Well, what is it? Money? You will get none. I have 
given you all I shall ever give you.” 

“You’re setting the pace a little fast, are you not?’' said 
Molleson; “I have not asked you for money,” 

“I never knew you to come for anything else.” 

“Perhaps. But just now I am in want of information.” 

The banker whirled his chair full upon his visitor, and 
severely scanned his face as if he would read his purpose. 

“What new scheme of villainy have you now?” 

“My dear old chief,’’ replied Molleson, taking a silk 
handkerchief from his pocket and flecking a particle of dust 
from his shining hat, “you are not at all courteous. I want 
to talk with you about an affair occurring many years ago. 
You make it difficult.” 

“Come, come,” said the banker impatiently, “out with 
what you have to say. And a little less familiarity.’® 

“You have very comfortable offices here,” remarked 
Molleson, irrelevantly. 

The tone and manner of Molleson caused the banker to 
rise from his chair. He crossed the room, closed the door 
connecting with the adjoining room occupied by his part- 
ner, and returned to Molleson, standing over him. 

“See here, my fine fellow,” he said threateningly, “you 
are up to some mischief. Be careful. I ga/e you fair 


8o 


VIVIER, 


warning.. I have made up my mind to end all connection 
with you. I have paid you well for the dirty business you 
were willing to do for me — paid you because I wanted to, 
not because you compelled me. Now any demand you may 
make will be blackmail. And if now you do not leave I will 
take your staying here as such. You cannot frighten me/' 

Molleson, who had entered the room with the firm deter° 
mination, no matter what might occur or what might be 
said, to control his temper, lost it in the very act of trying 
to retain it. The blood rushed into his face and an ugly 
expression overspread it. 

“You don’t frighten?” he said, in a low, strained voice. 
“Neither do I. There is a pair of us.” 

Molleson’s attitude was clearly a novelty to the banker. 
He regarded his visitor curiously. 

“Indeed,” he sneered. With great deliberation he added, 
“Are you aware that by reason of my leniency you are not 
in the state prison? Have you forgotten you are a thief!” 

By a violent effort Molleson regained his composure. 

“Call me embezzler,” he replied with a grim smile. “It 
sounds more respectable, and will look better in print.” 

The banker was puzzled, Molleson’s tone was unusual. 

“See here, Vivier,’' continued Molleson impudently, “I 
came here in an amiable frame of mind. My temper is none 
of the sweetest, and so I suggest you change your tone. I 
don’t like it.” 

“I don’t like you’re being here. If you don’t get out I’ll 
call an officer and have you arrested.” 

“Pah!” returned Molleson, in deep disgust. “Do you 
think I am a child? Have I asked you for anything? I 
shall remain here as long as it suits me — until I have said 
what I came to say,” 

The two men faced each other, Molleson defiantly, and 
the other with a glance of stern and puzzled inquiry. 


MOLLE SON’S DECISIVE STEP. 


8i 


“1 propose now to say to you,” continued Molleson, 

‘ ‘what has often been on my tongue, but which I have never 
said from a curious sense of obligation, since I have taken 
your money. If you are surprised at my sentimentality, so 
am I, for I am under no obligations to you — none what- 
ever,” 

‘‘Not even for saving you from prison bars?” 

“Pshaw!” contemptuously replied Molleson, “I am more 
experienced in the ways of the world than when I left your 
employ.” 

“Left, did you say? I labor under the impression you 
were kicked out.” 

“Call it what you will. But,” and his manner deepened 
into intensity, “I know now what I didn’t then. The job 
was put up on me deliberately, and by you. You made me 
a petty defaulter, you ruined my life.” 

“Who will believe such a story?” 

“No one probably, when the eminent banker Vivier denies 
and the turf gambler Harry Molleson tells it. Unfortunately 
I have given color to the.story of crookedness by my life since. 
But all the same you deliberatley ruined me that you might 
have a willing and unprincipled slave — that you might have 
some one who saw no security but in slavish obedience to you; 
who would marry your cast-off mistress, who had become 
troublesome to you and possessed a secret at that time danger- 
ous to you. Oh, I know it sounds like a dime novel, but 
your life contains episodes that would make a library of 
dime novels.” 

“Your imagination is quite active,” sneered the banker. 

“Bartleman has returned from the West.” 

This apparently irrelevant reply was so unexpected that 
the banker started with surprise, not fright. 

“Yes” continued Molleson, with a little irritating laugh, 
“I thought the news would be interesting if not agreeable.” 


82 


VIVIER. 


“And what is it to me?” 

“Nothing perhaps. However, he is a man of an observ- 
ant habit of mind, and a rattling tongue when inspired by 
rum.” 

The banker sneered, again, remarking: 

“You do not seem to appreciate that my time is valuable. 
Will you state your business with me?” 

“Yes, I wish to negotiate a loan. I want to borrow 
twenty-five hundred dollars.” 

“A large sum. What security have you to offer?” 

“The unsupported promise to pay of a man who was never 
known to fail to pay his debts.” 

The banker laughed scornfully. 

“The time of payment,” continued Molleson, “will be 
when I have found the missing fortune of Lysaght the inven- 
tor — not far off.” 

“The what!” cried the banker, in vast astonishment. 

“The missing fortune of the inventor Lysaght,” calmly 
repeated Molleson. 

“Why, you fool, he was buried by charity.” 

“True, — you contributed to the fund.” 

“He died penniless.” 

“He died worth ^100,000 to a penny.” 

“You’ve lost your senses.” 

“Not at all. Go to Abram Devol, President of the Empire 
Mining Supplies Company. He will prove it to your entire 
satisfaction. ” 

The banker seemed to have new food for thought. He 
walked up and down the room twice, and then abruptly and 
sharply asked: 

“Where is it now?” 

“I don’t know. Nobody does except the one who got it 
the day Lysaght died, and he doesn’t tell. But I will know 
in a day or two.” 


MOLLESON'S DECISIVE STEP. 83 

The banker looked at his visitor steadily, but his thoughts 
were far away. At length he said: 

“How long have you known this?” 

“A week.” 

“And you want this loan to prosecute the search?” 

“Yes.” 

The banker took a turn or two up and down the room. 

“Bah, these tales are idle. One hundred thousand dol- 
lars do not wait long for claimants. The heirs have had it 
long ago.” 

“No. You are wrong.” 

The banker took another turn up and down the room, and 
then sharply said : 

“The collateral is not sufficient. Now, my fine fellow, I 
have you. You thought you were cunning in putting your 
demand in the shape of a request for a loan. But it is 
blackmail all the rame. I’ll call the officer.” 

The banker crossed the room to his desk where his call- 
bell was. 

“One moment, please,” said Molleson. His tone was 
bland, his manner courteous, but his face wore an ulgy 
expression and his eyes fairly flamed. “One moment, please. 
I have other collateral to offer.” 

The banker stopped to listen. 

“Do you know Rose Geranium!” said Molleson, rising 
from his chair. “She is a young woman of rather dashing 
proclivities. I presume so intensely a respectable man as 
Banker Vivier would not be expected to know her, yet she 
is becoming a tolerably well-known figure of New York life. 
But you do know her. I’ll surprise you. Once upon a time 
she bore the name of Carrie Upshaw.” 

“Carrie Upshaw — Rose Geranium.” 

The banker might well be astonished. The reckless 
extravagance of, the life of a woman who was likely soon to 


84 


VIVIER. 


be notorious in the city, was already the theme of the clubs, 
and Mr. Vivier had heard of her. To find her to be the 
one he had known as Carrie Upshaw, the daughter of a man 
who had been his partner in several business enterprises, was 
the reason of his surprise. 

“Yes,” continued Molleson. “They are the same. I 
thought I would interest you before I finished. Carrie 
Upshaw is her maiden name; Rose Geranium is the one 
she has assumed — rather a pretty conceit. But she is 
entitled to still another, if she but knew it.” 

“What is that?” asked the banker, indifferently. His 
thoughts were still upon the astonishing information. 

“What name, do you ask?” inquired Molleson, with sus- 
picious courtesy, his eyes flashing and two red spots burning 
fiercely on his cheeks. 

“Yes.” 

“Mrs. James Vivier.” 

“What do you mean by that, you villain,” shouted the 
old man, turning fiercely on Molleson. 

“Softly now,” replied Molleson, calmly. “Just what I 
say. Be chary of your epithets. There is more than one 
villain in this room.” 

“You infernal scamp,” cried the old man, now thoroughly 
enraged. “By Heaven, I’ll throttle you if you do not tell 
me what you mean.” 

It was no idle threat the old man made; despite the dis- 
parity of their ages, Molleson would have had but little 
chance in a struggle with the banker. He did not quail, 
however. 

“Do you forget the little sport, the pretty little game we 
had some years ago in a pleasant little restaurant in Univer- 
sity Place, on the second floor in a private room, when Miss 
Carrie Upshaw and Mr. James Vivier stood up together to 
be married? It was fun, of course, only a farce. It was 


MOLLESON'S DECISIVE STEP. 


85 


that supper, you know, to which Mr. Vivier in the most 
paternal way, oh, the most paternal way, invited Miss Up- 
shaw, Miss Matthews, and Mr? Molleson. The wine was 
very plentiful and the fun ran high. Two facts connected 
with that pretty little play may never have become known to 
you,” 

The banker presented a startling figure He stood in a 
crouching position, his shoulders bent forward, his head in- 
clined, his eyes glowing like live coals, the fingers of his 
hands hanging by his sides, stretching out and doubling up 
as a cat sheathes and unsheathes its claws — all giving the 
suggestion of a tiger gathering for a spring on its prey. It 
spoke volumes for the undaunted spirit of Molleson that he 
displayed no symptoms of fear before the picture of ferocity 
the banker presented. 

“The first of these facts is,” continued Molleson, his 
voice rising triumphantly as he proceeded, “that the person 
Mr. Henry Molleson hastily hunted up to play his part in 
this pretty farce, was not, as he supposed, a divinity student, 
but a regularly ordained minister, as he afterwards learned.” 

The banker moved an inch or two nearer. 

“Thf second is, that at the time the marriage occurred 
Mr. James Vivier was a — widower. His wife had been dead 
two hours.” 

The banker staggered back astounded and overwhelmed 
by the unexpected denouhnent. Every other sentiment was 
lost in the shock of surprise. Clutching at the desk to pre- 
vent himself from falling, he stared blankly at his tormentor. 

Molleson had no pity on him. 

“Ah, ha!” he cried. “There is something, is there, that 
will break through that infernal nerve of yours? Well, rest 
assured I have told you the truth. I have satisfied myself 
as to the hours. The proof is indisputable. I am not sur- 
prised at your agitation. It cannot be a pleasant contempla- 


86 


VIVIER. 


tion that you ossibly will have to present your son to such 
a step-mother.” 

“ You lie ! ” shouted the banker, taunted beyond endur- 
ance, making a desperate rush at Molleson, who quickly 
placed a chair between them. 

“ Stop where you are, you white-haired rascal,” he cried, 
drawing a pistol. “ I’ll protect myself, don’t you fear. 
Now listen. Only one person knows this, and that person 
is myself. Whether Rose Geranium knows it or not, de- 
pends on yourself.” 

The impulse of anger under which the banker had rushed 
at Molleson passed away. He stood silent for a long time, 
closely watched by Molleson, who said not a word. * By-and- 
bye the banker began a measured pacing up and down the 
room, apparently oblivious of Molleson’s presence. ^Finally 
he stopped short upon his visitor and looked him steadily in 
the eyes. Molleson neither quailed nor flinched. 

Well,” said Molleson, “ is the collateral sufflcient ? ” 

“Yes.” 

The fox had taken the place of the tiger. 


CHAPTER XI. 

TANGLED THREADS. 

M olleson had succeeded in his undertaking, there- 
fore it would have seemed that his triumph was com- 
plete. The money was in his pocket. But as he stepped 
from the door of the banking house his sensation was not 
one of triumph. As a matter of fact he was disquieted and 
alarmed. Mr. Vivier had yielded too easily. After he had 
talked with the banker five minutes, Molleson had given up 


TANGLED THREADS. 87 

all hope of obtaining any money whatever ; he had been 
moved to proceed more by reason of a desire for revenge 
than from belief that his revelation would bring success. 
The ready compliance of the banker had astounded him, 
had required all his self-command to take advantage of the 
change in Mr. Vivier’s mood. He knew that Mr. Vivier 
did not yield through fear. 

“It means mischief to me,” he muttered as he walked 
along. “He is deep and cunning. He formed some plan 
while he was thinking so long, and the ‘giving up’ was a 
part of it. I must keep my eyes wide open, and in the 
mean time I’ve played my last card and my trump at that. 
It will be a game of wits, and I compliment myself, when I 
say the chances are even. But I have the money, and I 
must press the search.” 

He quickened his steps with this resolve. 

As soon as the door closed on Molleson, the banker 
dropped into a chair, his head bent on his chest, a heavy 
frown darkening his brow. He sat motionless for an hour. 
A clerk stepped into the room during the time. No notice 
was taken of his presence. A long experience had taught 
him it was not wise to disturb the banker at such times, and 
he retired quietly, warning his associates not to interrupt 
their chief for a while. 

When Mr. Vivier rose from his profound cogitations, it 
was with the air of a man who had reached irrevocable con- 
clusions and was now ready for action. 

He seated himself at his desk and wrote rapidly. As he 
inclosed and addressed his letter he summoned a clerk. 
While his assistant stood beside his desk he rapidly wrote 
on another sheet of paper. 

“Wheeler,” he said, “I want you to take this letter to its 
address. On this sheet you will find your instructions. I do 
not want them deviated from in the slightest particular. If 


VIVIER. 


U 

you leave now you will have time to prepare for your journey 
and catch the designated train. Say nothing to any one as 
to your business — simply that you are going away on an 
affair of mine. Show that letter to no one. Here is money 
for your expenses.” 

He handed the clerk a roll of bills, saying as he did so: 

“Make no mistake. Send Patten to me.” 

To the second clerk, he said : 

“I want you to find my son. It may take you a long 
time. Go to his apartments; if not there, to his stable, or 
to the Union League, or to the studio of an artist named 
Lysaght. But trace him and find him. Tell him I must 
see him this evening without fail. I shall be at the club, tell 
him, from six to eight, and from ten to midnight. I must 
see him. That will do. Send Curtis to me.” 

The third entered. 

“Curtis, how long will it take you to give me a balance- 
sheet?” 

“Not long. The books are posted to date.” 

“Not long, is no answer. How long — a month, a hour, 
a day, a week — which?” 

“By ten o’clock to-morrow morning, working all night.” 

“Do so then. I will make the boys handsome presents 
for their extra labor. A sudden emergency has arisen 
which makes it desirable, — no, necessary, that I should 
know exactly where we stand. Let me have also a detailed 
statement of our assets and liabilities. We are doing a 
strictly banking business, and it ought not to be difficult.” 

“It shall be done.” 

“Kirkham has charge of my individual investments. 
Tell him I want an exact statement, itemized thus: Real 
estate in New York, Brooklyn, etc. ; securities, bonds, rail- 
road, gas, manufacturing, and so on, he understands, the 
same as he made last January. That’s all. Oh, send 


TANGLED THREADS, 


somebody with my private box from the safe. See that the 
boys have a proper lunch served during the night, and din- 
ner this evening.” 

The box demanded was brought him. He said as he 
took it: 

“Close the door, and tell every one who calls that I am 
too busy to be interrupted.” 

Opening the box, he busied himself with carefully exam- 
ining its contents. He read each paper carefully, some of 
which he tore into bits, throwing them into the waste- 
basket; others he burned, others he carefully indorsed and 
laid back in the box. Having completed his work, he 
looked at his watch. It was after three o’clock. 

He called a clerk. 

‘‘Find out whether Judge Reynolds is in his office, and if 
he is say I will be there immediately.” 

Word was brought him presently that the Judge was wait- 
ing for him. 

He took his hat, and as he passed out he looked into the 
room of his partner Longman, and asked: 

“Didn’t I hear you say something about going away 
to-morrow?” 

‘‘Yes, I thought of going away for a day or two.” 

“Is it important?” 

“Not especially so. ’’ 

“Then don’t go. I shall have an important announce- 
ment to make to you to-morrow.” 

“Very well.” 

Mr, Vivier went straightway to the office of his lawyet, 
whom he found awaiting his coming. 

“Reynolds, my time is limited and I’ll talk to the point. • 
I want new copartnership papers made out.” 

“Why, the term of this copartnership has not expired.” 

“I know that. Don’t interrupt. An exact copy of the 


90 


VI VIE R. 


present one will do, save in these particulars. I retire 
and become a special partner, leaving a million in — that is to 
say, one-third interest; Longman to be advanced to one- 
third, Harper to be advanced to one-sixth, and Curtis is to 
go in at one-sixth ; partnership to last five years, and the 
firm to continue as Vivier, Longman & Company. Long- 
man to sign in liquidation ; new firm to begin with the first 
of August. I want those papers ready by twelve to-mor- 
row. Do you understand me?” 

‘‘Yes, except on one point. You reserved to yourself, in 
the present articles, the power of final determination in mat- 
ters where a disagreement as to policy arose. How is it to 
be now?” 

‘‘Give it to Longman. Limit my responsibilities strictly 
to those of a special partner. Have them ready by noon 
to-morrow, and bring them to my office yourself, please.” 

He went out with the same energetic manner which had 
characterized him from the moment he had arisen from his 
profound meditation into which he had fallen upon Molle- 
son’s departure. 

While this had been going forward, the clerk he had dis- 
patched to find his son had been searching for Ned, and had 
found him where he least expected to, walking on Fourth 
Avenue accompanied by a young lady, who was, in fact, 
Ella. 

Ever since the day he had assumed the position as the 
savior of the honor of the Newton household, Ned had 
spent much time in her society. He had permitted himself 
to drift into a close intimacy unheedful of the consequences. 
If a thought arose as to what all this pleasant association 
would lead to, he dismissed it as a vexation, since it invari- 
ably brought to his mind the contract he had made with his 
father, contemplation of which grew more and more disa- 
greeable. 


TANGLED THREADS. 


91 


Ned recognized the clerk as he approached. Perceiving 
the young man desired to address him, he stopped. 

Lifting his hat politely in recognition of the presence of 
Ella, and apologizing for interrupting his walk, the clerk 
delivered the imperative message from the elder Vivier in 
such manner as to make an impression upon Ned of extreme 
importance. 

Ned was disturbed by it. He jumped to the conclusion 
that his father in some manner had discovered his growing 
intimacy with Ella, and had taken this means to interfere. 
While he was angered and greatly troubled over his conclu- 
sion, he never dreamed of disobedience to the summons. 
He directed the clerk to say to his father that he would see 
him between six and eight. 

As he walked away with Ella toward her house he made 
strong effort to conceal from his companion any sign of the 
annoyance he felt, though he anticipated that the interview 
to which he was called was quite likely to have an impor- 
tant influence upon his future. 

Parting with her at her door, as much by habit as from any- 
thing else he bent his steps in the direction of his friend’s 
studio. 

Entering, he found Lysaght seated before his easel 
engaged in a close study of the picture he had once, as the 
reader knows, shown Ned. 

“Ah,” cried Ned, “You are feasting your eyes upon that 
lovely dream of your imagination?” 

“It is a picture of Ines.” 

“Of Ines,” replied Ned in surprise. “Oh, but you told 
me it was greatly idealized.” 

“It isn’t,” returned the artist calmly. “It is as good a 
picture as I know how to paint — as accurate a portrait. I 
know I said so. I didn’t know then that I loved her, but 
some instinct moved me to conceal the truth from you.” 


92 


VIVIER, 


“Stan, I congratulate you,” said Ned, enthusiastically. 
“That is a face worth fighting for. I confess to a com- 
plete surprise. I was afraid that you had been caught by 
the Arcadian thing, you know, flowers, and trees, and such 
things, and then when the veneer was worn off you would 
find the dead wood hopelessly stupid and vulgar and rustic. 
But this face shows mind and refinement.” 

“I thought you were not with me wholly,” said Lysaght, 
quietly. 

“I wasn’t, I confess. I was with you only so far as I was 
willing to do what you wanted, but I feared consequences. 
Bui now I am enthusiastically with you. 

“Notwithstanding the want of knowledge of the antece- 
dents?” slyly asked the artist. 

■‘That is a drawback,” replied Ned. “I still think you 
ought to satisfy yourself on that score before you become too 
deeply involved.” 

“I am now as deeply involved as I can be.” 

“How?” 

“I have communciated with Ben, and through him have 
delivered to and received a letter from Ines. There is now 
no reserve between us as to affection. We are pledged to 
each other. Ben will be here to-morrow, and after his 
return the lines of communication will be firmly es- 
tablished.” 

Ned was silent and did not reply. His friend was press- 
ing forward more rapidly than to him seemed expedient or 
wise. “What to do now, is the question which is vexing 
me,” continued Lysaght. “We can’t go on forever regard- 
ing each other at long range. As yet there has been no 
demonstration to Ines of those plans made for her 
future.” 

“Let me suggest a course. Maintain matters just as they 
are now, until some demonstration is made, and, in the mean 


TANGLED THREADS. 93 

time, see if you cannot find out something as to her surround- 
ings and belongings.” 

The artist drew a wry face and said peevishly, ‘ ‘ Pshaw ! ’ ’ 

The truth was that he had made an effort in his letter to 
draw something out from Ines on that head, in discussing 
the plans for her future noted by Mrs. Humphrey. Ines 
had replied without the suspicion of evasion, but had clearly 
shown that she had little, if any, knowledge as to herself ; 
her recollection of her childhood previous to her falling under 
the charge of Mrs. Humphrey was dim and vague. She 
knew she had been in charge of at least two women before 
Mrs. Humphrey appeared, and had been associated with 
some little girl. Mrs. Humphrey had evaded -all conversa- 
tion as to her previous life, saying she did not know who her 
father and mother were. Ines had made a more unpleasant 
impression upon Lysaght than he was willing to admit, even 
to himself, and especially to Ned after he had taken the 
ground he had in respect of it. It is not to be wondered 
at, therefore, that the advice of Ned irritated him. Lysaght 
had recognized its advisability and determined to disregard 
it. And he was conscious that his determination was neither 
wise nor courageous. Hence his ill-humor. 

Perceiving the irritability of his friend, Ned wisely 
refrained from urging his advice. 

After a few moments of silence between them, the artist 
spoke : 

“Ned, I received a note from that man Molleson this 
morning.” 

“Yes?” said Ned, much interested. “Anything new?” 

“No; that is, he says nothing. But as he writes to ask if 
I will see him here to-morrow night, I presume there is 
something new. I have written him to say that I will be in 
to receive him.' Cannot you make it convenient to be here 
too?” 


94 


VIVIER. 


“I don’t know,” replied Ned, doubtfully. “I received a 
singular message — command were the better word — from my 
father this afternoon to see him without fail to-night. I am 
afraid I am on the verge of a momentous situation. My 
future just now seems quite uncertain.” 

“In what way?” 

‘‘I told you of the contract I had entered into with my 
father.” 

“Yes” replied the artist eagerly, drawing his chair more 
closely to Ned. 

“Well, ever since that day when I saved that young cub 
Newton, I have seen a good deal of the Newtons — have been 
out with Ella more or less. I am afraid my father bas heard 
it or seen it, and has determined to put me on the examina- 
tion stand.” 

“You have been going too far in that direction, Ned.” 

“Now, don’t preach,” said Ned, so imperiously as to 
not only astonish but silence his friend. Then continuing 
he said: “In the mean time the marriage he contemplates 
has been growing more and more distasteful, until I can no 
longer regard it without shuddering. If he opens up the 
subject there is likely to be an explosion, the results of which 
I cannot undertake to forecast.” 

The artist did not reply, but looked out of the large sky- 
light, with a face plainly expressing distress and perplexity. 

Ned scrutinized it closely, trying to read the thoughts of 
his friend. He said abruptly : 

“I mean no harm to the girl. None shall come to her. 
I respect her.” 

“I am glad of it,” was all that Lysaght said in reply. 

Both relapsed into silence; Ned moody and Lysaght 
troubled. 

It is doubtful whether Lysaght could have expressed his 
thoughts in words. They were complex and far-reaching. 


TANGLED THREADS. 


95 


One thing he imagined he saw clearly and that was, that the 
growing distaste Ned manifested for the marriage his father 
projected, was due to a -growing affection for Ella. Ned 
might not know it or realize it now ; he himself had loved 
Ines for a long time before he was conscious of it, but 
whether or not Ned did* there was certainly great trouble in 
store for him.* What advice could be offered him? Oppo- 
sition to his father would possibly, nay, probably, result in 
a loss of his brilliant position in the world. While Lysaght’s 
soul revolted at the idea that his friend should sink his man- 
hood and tamely submit to what he believed was a base and 
unjust exaction on the part of the elder Vivier, was he ready 
to counsel his friend to opposition and to the idea that the 
world was well lost for love? Was he willing to counsel that 
Ella, whose affections he doubted not were engaged, should 
be wholly disregarded? Was he willing to use his influence 
in the degree he could exert it, to bring about an alliance 
between Ned and Ella, when he considered the difference of 
their training and tastes, the niceties of refinement and fas- 
tidiousness, the consequence of the luxurious life Ned had 
led, and the bare, simple, and narrow life Ella had lived? 
He could not see his way to any advice. So he wisely held 
his peace. 

At length Ned started up and looked at his watch. It 
was nearly half-past six. 

“Go to your dinner, old man. It is time. I must hurry 
to my father.” With a bitter laugh, he added, “When 
you see me again I may be seeking some way to earn my 
bread.” 

He hastened to the Union League Club and found his 
father awaiting him. He presented himself to the elder 
Vivier, so braced for a shock that his face wore an unusually 
stern and severe expression. 

The banker looked at his son in mild surprise. It was an 


96 


VIVIER, 


expression he had rarely, if ever, observed, and it did not 
displease him. 

“What has gone wrong, Ned?” he asked. 

“Nothing, sir, of any moment — as yet,” he added. 

The elder Vivier bent a glance of close scrutiny upon the 
younger. Then, evidently thinkiftg that something had 
gone wrong in the young man’s amusements, he unbent 
and said: 

“I am going to Albany to-morrow night. I sent for you 
so that you would make no engagements for that time, or if 
you had, to break them, for I want you to go with me. It 
is important. You understand me?” 

“Yes, sir. I have nothing to interfere, or to need 
re-arrangement.” 

“Very well. We will go up jn the night boat. It leaves 
at six. Meet me at the steamer and be on hand promptly.” 

‘ T shall be there.” 

“Have you dined, Ned?” 

“No sir, not yet. Excuse me from dining with you, sir. 
I have engagements which I will keep if you are done with 
me.” 

“Yes, that is all I wanted to say.” 

Again that peculiarity of relationship. Ned did not 
seek to learn the object of the journey, believing that if his 
father desired he should know it, he would inform him 
without the asking, and that not doing so, it was useless to 
ask. The father did not tell it because he did not think it 
necessary, and was accustomed to obedience without expla- 
nation. 

On Ned’s part he was anxious to part from his father. 
His relief on finding that his summons was not due to the 
cause he had feared, was so great that he was in danger of 
betraying himself. So he hastened away, wondering over 
the command he had received. Though his father made 


UNEXPECTED ASSISTANCE. 


97 


frequent trips from home, he had never before solicited the 
companionship of his son. What was the cause of this 
change in his habit? 


CHAPTER XII. 

UNEXPECTED ASSISTANCE. 

O N the morning following his interview with the banker 
Vivier, Molleson awoke an hour later than was his 
usual habit. But he was in high good-humor. The fear of 
the banker he had stood in the previous day, was somewhat 
lessened. He had grown accustomed to the consideration, 
and his self-confidence, somewhat disturbed by the easy com- 
plicance of the banker, had been to a great degree restored. 
Besides, he had a large sum of money in his pocket, and the 
possession of funds always put him in high spirits. In addi- 
tion, a racing event had been run off the day before which had 
brought him in unexpectedly a large return. He had counted 
it as a loss. Many weeks previously he had invested a small 
amount at long odds, more in a spirit of bravado than from 
confidence in the information he had received. To the 
astonishment of everybody interested in such things, the 
“knowing ones” included, except the owner who had advised 
Molleson to invest, the horse had run through the squad of 
youngsters to the front. The consequence was that Molle- 
son, at the risk of a comparatively small sum, found himself in 
possession of two thousand dollars when he expected a loss. 
Added to the twenty-five hundred he had obtained from the 
banker, he had what he termed a “very tidy sum” for opera- 
tions. His superstition contributed to his high spirits. He 
believed he was in a run of luck, and he became brave and 
hopeful. 

When he descended to the breakfast-room, Mrs. Molleson 


98 


VIVIER. 


saw from the first glance that she had come upon sunny 
times. 

“Ah, light of my soul,” he cried, “your coffee smells as 
deliciously as a bunch of heliotrope. I hope you have a 
good breakfast, my dear, for I am as hungry as a bear.” 

The wife of his bosom beamed with smiles as she remarked. 

“The wine could not have been very plentiful yesterday 
and last night. “ 

This was a remark borne of bitter experience. 

“What powers of sarcasm lurk under that fair exterior,” 
retorted Mr. Molleson, stopping at his chair to gaze admir- 
ingly across the table. 

The fair lady, who was fair indeed, laughed, quite willing 
to fall into the humor of her lord and enjoy the sunshine 
while it lasted. 

“Bess,” he added, “while you are pouring the coffee tell 
me how much it would take to pay our bills for the house 
and get you a nice pretty dress.” 

“Gown, you should say, dear. Our bills are small, for I 
have been economical, very, this month. One hundred will 
pay our bills, and fifty will get me the nice dress'.” 

“What a modest little duck! Well, here is five hundred. 
Use it wisely, Bess, we’re in luck again. But keep your eye 
on the change.” 

The lady’s eyes sparkled. The diamonds would be re- 
leased. 

“Luck must be running your way when you are so liberal. ’ ’ 

“It is,” he replied. “I made a good lift in the ‘Street’ 
yesterday, and ‘Cantering Nell’ brought me in two thou, at 
Jerome yesterday afternoon. Things are looking well in 
the great scheme I have on hand.” 

Being in a communicative mood he detailed at length to 
his wife the search he had been making, and the fact of the 
employment of a lawyer and detective to go further into th^ 


UNEXPECTED ASSISTANCE. 


99 


search, during that important half-hour, where Lysaght 
deposited his money. 

“Suppose you do find out where he deposited the money,” 
asked his wife, “how are you to benefit by it? It looks to 
me like a waste of time and labor.” 

Molleson cast a glance of supreme disgust upon her. 

“My dear,” he retorted, “have you not lived long enough 
with me to know that I waste neither time nor labor; and to 
learn how my income is made? Why look at it? A man 
gets one hundred thousand dollars one day, puts it away 
somewhere the next morning, dies in the afternoon and is 
buried two days after by charity. He leaves a child who 
never gets the money, and is supported thereafter in the 
way her father was buried. But somebody, taking advantage 
of his sudden death, does get it. If I can- find that some- 
body, then somebody will have to ‘divy’ with somebody else, 
^nd that somebody else is your loving and loved husband. 
Take a paper and a pencil, my dear, and with your lily-white 
fingers compute the interest and compound interest on 
$100,000 at six per cent, for sixteen years, and tell me if 
fifty thousand dollars would not be a small price for silence. 
I think you will find the $100,000 has more than doubled, 
a good deal more than doubled.” 

Mrs. Molleson was not at all abashed by the tone of 
triumphant sarcasm. 

“But how do you know the girl has not got the money? 
You have not known anything of her in at least fifteen years. 
For all you know she may have received it long ago. It 
seems to me the first thing to do was to find out whether the 
girl was alive, and if alive, whether she ever had the money.” 

Molleson leaped from his chair startled. 

“By George, you’re right!” he exclaimed, as he drew a 
long breath. “I made so certain of the fact that she did not 
have it that I lost sight of that point entirely. You’re right. 


100 


VIVIER. 


The first thing to do is to find the girl. Mrs. Molleson, I 
beg your pardon. I viewed your remark with disgust. I 
am humiliated and bow to your superior sagacity and per- 
spicacity. Permit me to kiss your hand metaphorically.” 

“Go long with your long words I can’t understand,” 
replied his wife merrily. “Drink your coffee before it is 
cold, and tell me how you will find her.” 

“I must get it out of Bartleman, even if I have to choke 
it out. He knows.” 

“Leave him alone. He’s an old sneak.” 

“Right you are, but — ” 

“But nothing. I can help you.” 

“You, my pet?” 

“Now don’t be sarcastic, because I’ll humiliate you again. 
I heard a great piece of news two or three days ago. I met 
Emma Sarsfield, — that’s her name now, but it was Hyde.” 

“Oh, she of the lurid head?” 

“Auburn, my dear. Well, she told me that Leila 
Carman — ” 

“Your successor in the affections of — ” 

“It is not necessary to recall matters better forgotten. 
Well, Leila has married a man named Crewe — Albert Crewe, 
a rich merchant.” 

“Who? Albert Crewe the metal broker?” 

“I don’t know whether he is a metal broker or a metal 
breaker — anyhow he is very rich and fashionable, and lives 
in Fifty-sixth Street near Fifth Avenue.” 

“Great Heavens, can it be possible?” 

“You seem astonished.” 

“I am. Leila Carman married to Albert Crewe. Well, 
well, well. That is the last. Why, Bess, that Crewe is one 
of the Crewes of Crewesdale, in Westchester — a swell of 
swells — an aristocrat of aristocrats. Can she be recognized 
by his family, by society?” 


UNEXPECTED ASSISTANCE. 


lOI 


“That’s the best of it. She is. And what’s more has a 
box at the opera, is chief lady in a fashionable church, 
manager of charity associations and a leader of society. 
There now, what do you think of that!’’ 

Mrs. Molleson leaned back in her chair, proud of the 
effect she had produced on a husband not often interested 
in her communications. 

“How did she accomplish all that with her history and 
drawbacks. ’ ’ 

“Leila never was a fool,’’ remarked Mrs. Molleson com- 
placently. “When she broke with our old patron saint she 
had fine settlements, and as a young widow with one child, 
suddenly bereaved, took a nice house in Fourteenth Street 
and cut all her old associations. The house belonged to 
Mr. Crewe. He met her, visited her, loved her, and mar- 
ried her.’’ 

“Child and all, hey?’’ laughed Molleson, sardonically. 

“No; Emma said that Leila allowed the child to con- 
veniently die the summer before the marriage.’’ 

“What do you mean by that?’’ inquired her husband, 
sharply. 

“That she turned the child over to the care of a widowed 
sister, and gave out that it had died.’’ 

“Oh, then she must have been reconciled to her sisters?’’ 

“Yes, as soon as she cut old associations. So Emma 
says.’’ 

“She came of a really respectable family,’’ said Molleson, 
reminiscently. “She had two sisters who married very 
well. I knew them when they were living in Clinton Street, 
in the old Tenth Ward, along in sixty-two or three. I was 
a boy then. The locality is all changed now. But what 
has all this to do with your giving me help?’’ 

“Everything. Here is another surprise for you. When 
the little Lysaght girl was taken from us, who do you think 


102 


VIVIER. 


she was given to, guess? Yes. To Leila Carman, Mrs. 
Carman, widow, of Fourteenth Street.” 

‘‘The deuce you say,” cried Molleson, in tones of genuine 
surprise. 

‘‘It is true. Emma says there is no doubt about it!” 

‘‘What a complication! Poor Sallie Martin’s child given 
to her worst enemy. Did Leila know whose child it 
was ? ’ ’ 

‘‘No, she didn’t. Never knew, and Emma thinks she 
doesn’t know now.” 

‘‘But how does Emma know all this?” 

‘‘Her husband, Sarsfield, was chief clerk for Harper, the 
lawyer. ’ ’ 

‘‘Harper, what Harper?” 

‘‘Why, the one who acted for those people who buried 
Lysaght and who took the girl away.” 

‘‘Oh yes, I remember.” 

‘‘Well, Emma’s husband did most of the work under 
Harper’s instructions, and one was that Leila, or no one 
else, was to know where the girl came from.” 

‘‘I see; and she has learned all this since her marriage 
with Sarsfield.” 

‘‘Yes. Well, Leila only had the child a short time when 
she wanted to get rid of it. I suppose she had got acquainted 
with Crewe and was beginning to lay her plans. Sarsfield 
says a change was made by Harper after consulting the one 
he was acting for. To whom the child then went Sarsfield 
doesn’t know, but to whoever it was, the person was sug- 
gested by Leila.” 

“Urn.” Mr. Molleson became profoundly thoughtful. 
Finally he asked, ‘‘Who was this person Harper was acting 
for?” 

‘‘Sarsfield don’t know. Harper never would tell; he 
kept it a secret.” 


UNEXPECTED ASSISTANCE. 


103 

“And Harper is dead?” 

“Yes.” 

“I wonder if Sarsfield would talk to me.” 

“Don’t go to him. You would only get Emma into 
trouble. Don’t go to Emma either, for you would rouse 
her suspicions.” 

“What would you advise, then?” 

“Go to Leila, though Emma says she wont talk to any- 
body she knew in those days. She carries a very high head, 
and wont recognize any of her old acquaintances. Emma 
says she met her in the park and spoke to her, but she put 
up a pair of gold eye-glasses, looked at her coldly, and 
turned her back on her — a dead cut.” 

“Perhaps, she has forgotten her?” 

“Nonsense. Let Lelia alone for forgetting.’ 

“It was very nervy then. But she will talk to me.” 

“Because you are so fascinating? Don’t be too sure.” 

“I am not. Perhaps you are not aware that I conducted 
the negotiations for the settlement for our old chief? I did, 
right up to the end.” 

“You did? Why, you never told me.”. 

“It was a confidential transaction, and I could not tell 
even the dear wife of my bosom. Come, Mrs. Molleson, 
I’ll bet you the price of a week at Long Branch during the 
races, that she’ll tell me what I want to know, if she can.” 

“If she can. That’s where she’ll slip through your 
fingers. Leila’s neither a fool nor a coward. I’ll take a 
bet that you learn^nothing from her.” 

“Done, that’s a go. Well, my dear, you have helped me. 
What a story it is!” 

“Isn’t it. Just think how it has all turned out since 
Leila Carman, Emma Hyde, Sallie Martin and myself — ” 

“The prettiest of them all,” interjected Molleson, gal- 
lantly. 


104 


VIVIER, 


“Thank you — since we four made bonnets at Madame 
Delaplaine’s. Leila a leader in fashionable society, Emma 
the wife of a lawyer, Sally married to an inventor and dead, 
and I — “ 

“The wife of a gentleman of leisure and pleasure, who at 
least provides well for her.” 

‘‘Indeed you do, dear. All married, and one dead.” 

“Well, Bess, you and I must make a social call upon 
Mrs. Crewe. We’ll do it this afternoon early. I’ll be here 
by one o’clock with the carriage. Get yourself up in your 
best shape. Get the diamonds out. . I have some business 
which will keep me busy until then.” 

The exceeding good-humor Mr. Molleson was in, was 
shown in the fact that before he left the room, he kissed his 
wife affectionately, much to her astonishment, since it was 
an act rarely performed. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FASHIONABLE MRS. CREWE. 

P romptly at one o’clock Mr. Molleson dashed up to 
the door of his residence in One Hundred and Twenty- 
fifth Street, in a fine establishment, which, though it was 
hired, would have deceived all but the initiated. 

Descending, he entered his house and soon reappeared 
accompanied by his spouse, who was arrayed in all her ele- 
gance, the offensive diamonds being con^icuously present. 

Apparently oblivious of the attention they were attract- 
ing, Mr. Molleson, with great dignity and grace, handed Mrs. 
Molleson in, and then delayed his own entrance long enough 
to inform the driver as to their destination. 

This gave Mrs. Molleson an opportunity to slyly glance at 
the shades covering the windows of her neighbors’ house, 


FASHIONABLE MRS. CREWE. 


loS 

and seeing them slightly, very slightly drawn aside, shrewdly 
determined that one of her best friends was looking out 
upon her in a condition of envy and jealousy. Whereupon, 
with an amiable desire to intensify that condition, she spread 
out her dress with her bare hand, that the diamonds might 
be more particularly observed, and ostentatiously ' arranged 
the pendants in her ears; As they drove away the aider- 
man and assemblyman of the district stood upon the corner 
observing them. “Harry seems to be in luck again,” 
remarked the alderman. “Yes,” replied the assemMyman, 
‘‘I hear he pulled off a couple of thou, when that rank out- 
sider came in ahead yesterday at Jerome. He's a high roller 
when he’s got it.” 

“Yes, he’s a good fellow, too. He'’s been working some 
scheme down town the past week or two ; I guess it’s 
beginning to yield.” 

“Hope it’ll continue to yield into the fall,” said the 
assemblyman. “When he’s got it, he gives up well to help 
the boys through. Staked me five hundred last fall.” 

“Yes, he’s a good ’un. Helped me same way when I was 
running two years ago. Hope he’ll be flush this time.” 

While this conversation was going forward the carriage 
containing Mr. and Mrs. Molleson was rolling rapidly in the 
direction of the park. 

Molleson was silent and absorbed. Mrs. Molleson was 
busy with the scenes on the sidewalk. Thus they rode with- 
out exchanging a word. 

Arriving at the house of Mrs. Crewe in Fifty-sixth Street, 
they mounted the steps. Hardly had Molleson rung the 
bell when the door was flung open. 

A man in livery held it, as if partially barring the passage. 
Molleson, presenting their cards, pushed by him before the 
man could venture a word, saying, “Mrs. Crewe.” 

“I do not know that she is at home.” 


io6 


VIVIER. 


“Find out then quickly.” 

He turned to his right and was about to pass through a 
curtained door, when the man said ; 

“This side, if you please,” holding up the portilre for 
them to pass through. 

They entered a small reception room, luxuriously and 
most tastefully furnished. 

Molleson seated himself in a small easy-chair in front of 
the door, and Mrs. Molleson found a seat to her liking in 
the corner. 

As the servant departed Molleson said: 

“Bess, from the limited view given us I should imagine 
that the ex-milliner, our charming friend Leila, was elegantly 
housed. These be the trappings not of woe, but of wealth.” 

“Leila always had good taste,” answered Mrs. Molleson. 
“Give her the money and she could do things well. What 
is the carpet?” 

“Never having concerned myself about such common 
things as carpets, except to pay for them, I am not posted.” 

The servant here entered, saying that his mistress was not 
at home. ^ 

“Go and tell her,” said Molleson, “that our, call is one of 
business and not pleasure, and that we will wait until she is 
at home.” 

This was said in so threatening a manner that the servant 
retired precipitately. 

A quarter of an hour elapsed before any one made an ap- 
pearance, but at the expiration of that time the portieres 
were parted without warning, and Mrs. Crewe stood before 
them. 

“How de do, Leila,” said Mrs. Molleson. 

Mrs. Crewe drew herself up haughtily, and gazing frigidly 
at the audacious Mrs. Molleson for a moment said, 

“Mrs. Crewe, if you please.” Turning to Molleson, who 


FASHIONABLE MRS. CREWE. 107 

was watching the scene with a broad grin on his face, she 
said, “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” 

Mrs. Molleson, however, was not to be put down so 
shortly. 

“Well, upon my word this is pleasant,” she said, with a 
toss of her head. “I had heard you were doing the high 
and mighty, but let me tell you, Leila Carman, that it will 
not do for you to try it with me.” 

“Will you state your business with me,” said Mrs. Crewe, 
coldly ignoring the speech of Mrs. Molleson. 

“Oh yes,” replied Mr. Molleson, “but I warn you first it 
is of such a nature that it will be best stated behind doors 
where there will be no eaves-droppers — that is, for you it 
will be best. It is a matter of indifference to us who over- 
hears us.” 

That Mrs. Crewe was displeased with the manner of Mol- 
leson, who laughed impudently as he talked, was quite clear. 
The color rose to her face, and she bit her lips in an endeavor 
to check her rising temper. 

“Very well. We will' ^o into the library.” 

She rose haughtily and led the way, Molleson grinning 
broadly, as if delighted with the situation, Mrs. Molleson 
indignant and fanning herself furiously. 

Mrs. Crewe stopped at the door, to inform the servant she 
was not at home to anyone. 

“Madame’s carriage is at the door,” said the servant. 

“Very well. Let it wait.” 

This simple incident seemed to increase Mrs. Molleson’s 
wrath, for she sat herself down with a bounce, saying: 

“Madame, — He can hardly mean Madame Delaplaine, for 
whom you used to make bonnets, Leila. She’s dead.” 

Mr. Molleson signalled his wife to restrain herself. 

Mrs. Crewe paid not the slightest heed to the remark, but 
turned to Molleson.' 


io8 


VIVIER. 


“What you have to say you must say quickly. I did not 
intend to see you, but I supposed you would make a scene 
if I did not, I desire to inform you that when I married, 
in fact before it, I had cut loose from old associations, and 
do not and have not recognized them since. I am not to be 
frightened. My position in the world is assured, and if you 
attempt any familiarity I will have you put out. Any story 
you may see fit to tell I will deny. My word will be taken. 
Now to your business, and be brief.” 

This was said with such haughty insolence that Molle- 
son lost his temper. 

‘‘You will put no one out,” he said savagely. “I’ll go 
about my business as / see fit. And you will give me all the 
time I desire to have. / hold the whip handle and when / 
crack the whip you will dance. Now, my fine lady upon 
this basis we will proceed.” 

‘‘Sir, I’ll have you removed from the house for such inso- 
lence,” cried the lady, angrily, springing up to strike the 
bell. 

‘‘Leila,” said Molleson deliberately, ‘‘if you dare to 
touch that bell you will have spent your last night under 
this roof.’' 

Mrs. Crewe turned upon him enraged. His tone so firm, 
so decided, and so confident, held her attention. He had 
recovered from his first flash of anger, and was calmly re- 
clining in his low chair, motionless, though his eyes were 
literally blazing. 

‘‘Leila,” he continued in a low, dangeous tone, “you are 
very foolish to irritate me. I have a bad habit of holding 
on to all documents I can get my hands upon. When I 
negotiated that settlement between yourself and the banker 
Vivier I retained in my possession the article of agreement 
you signed. I have it now.” 

Mrs. Crewe turned ghastly white. She recollected the 


PASHIONABLE MRS. CREWE. T09 

cruel docuument that had been forced • from her, and she 
realized that she was absolutely in the power of that un- 
scrupulous man, who she knew would have no mercy upon 
her. She felt faint and staggered to the table for support. 
Mrs. Molleson, whose anger was always short-lived, and 
whose sympathies were quick, hastened to her assistance. 
Mrs. Crewe waved her away. 

“You have that terrible document,” she faltered. 

“Yes, I have it. Mr. Vivier desired me to obtain it as a 
precaution of safety, doubting, however, whether I would 
succeed in getting it. But you were so anxious to get the 
generous sum he was willing to give to get rid of you, and 
thus break a relation which had become irksome to him, that 
you signed willingly. It was a terrible document, for it put 
you absolutely in the power of any one who possessed it. 
From what I have heard you realized its importance after it 
was too late.” 

“But how comes it that you have it?” she stammered. 

“Because I did not give it up. I told him I had failed to 
get it. I retained it not for the purpose of having any hold 
on you, but upon him. While it was practically a cold con- 
fession of your relations with Vivier, it implicated him as 
well. I should not have spoken of it now, if you had been 
reasonable. Now, we will drop the consideration of this 
document, and go on with the business.” 

Mrs. Crewe threw herself wearily in a chair and gave con- 
sent by her attitude. 

“When you set up in Fourteenth Street as Mrs. Carman, 
a widow with one child, a little girl,” continued Molleson, 
“you undertook the care of another little girl?” 

Mrs. Crewe nodded affirmatively, and an expression of 
surprised inquiry swept over her face., 

“Did you know what little girl it was?” asked Molleson. 

“No,” replied Mrs. Crewe, indifferently. 


no 


VIVIER. 


“Have you learned since?” 

“No,” as indifferently as before. 

“The little girl was taken straightway from my house 
to yours,” continued Molleson, slowly. “She was the 
daughter of Mr. Stanley Lysaght, the inventor, and of,” — 
Molleson hesitated, to perceive the effect of his announce- 
ment — “of Sallie Martin, whom Lysaght had married.” 

Mrs. Crewe sat upright and exclaimed: 

“It is impossible.” 

“It is true. I was not aware of it myself until this morn- 
ing. But concerning the truth of it there is no doubt.” 

“And that indignity was put on me when it was known 
how I hated the mother of that child?” 

“I presume there was sympathy for the child, and there- 
fore the fact was concealed. However, that is not to tbe 
point. The child remained with you but a short time, and 
was placed in another’s care. Who was this person, sug- 
gested by you?” 

Mrs. Crewe considered the question a long time. At 
length she said: 

“Before I answer that question, let me ask what you are 
seeking?” 

“For purposes of my own I want to know the where- 
abouts of this daughter, and I am trying to trace her. ’ ’ 

“It would not help you in your search to know the name 
of the person to whose care the child was committed, for she 
remained with her but a short time. I do not want to men- 
tion her name, not for my sake nor for that of the child nor 
for the purposes of concealment, but for the woman’s sake. 
She is a good woman, who has had much trouble in her life, 
and I do not want to put any more on her.” 

“I have no desire to injure her,” replied Molleson. 
“She is important to me only as a step in the search I am 
making.” 


FASHIONABLE MRS. CREWE. 


Ill 


“She could not help you. She does not know into whose 
care the child went after it left her.” 

“Do you?*” 

“Yes.” 

“Will you tell me the name of this person, and where she 
is?” 

“I cannot tell you where she is now, nor the name she 
bears at present, but — ” 

“But,” said Molleson, as she hesitated, “you can find 
out if it is necessary?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did she adopt another name, that you say you do not 
know the name she bears at present?” 

“No, she married, and within a few days after the mar- 
riage she lost her husband — he was dying when she married 
him. The name has escaped me, that is all.” 

‘ ‘Will you obtain that name for me and her whereabouts?” 

“To what use will you put it?” 

“No bargaining, if you please. I have courteously, and 
for politeness sake, put the question in the form of a favor ; 
it is, however, a command.” 

Mrs. Crewe winced and flushed with anger. 

“Before you answer,” said Molleson, “let me ask another 
question. Is the girl alive?” 

“Yes — or she was within a month. I should have heard 
if she were dead. ” 

“Does she live in the city?” 

“No, but where I cannot tell without inquiry.” 

“Did you ever hear that the child was possessed of a large 
property?” 

Mrs Crewe looked surprised. 

“Why, no; all the expense of her maintenance and edu- 
cation, and of a guardian for her, has been borne by the 
person who placed her with me.” 


II2 


VIVIER. 


“That was as I understand,” replied Molleson, in a tone 
of relief and satisfaction. “I can say to you now that her 
father became rich the day before his death — a fact known 
to but few, and to none of his friends or relatives, and 
only recently made known to the latter. Stanley Lysaght, 
the inventor, has a nephew in town now, an artist. I am 
commissioned, employed in fact, to find trace of his 
cousin.” 

Mrs. Crewe leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair in 
which she was sitting, and rested her chin upon her hand. 
Thus she sat for many minutes, absorbed in thought. Mol- 
leson did not interrupt the current of her thoughts, and 
restrained Mrs. Molleson, who all the time had been a silent 
listener, and now sought to set the interesting dialogue on 
foot again. 

Rousing herself, Mrs. Crewe said: 

“Tell me about this fortune.” 

Molleson briefly narrated the facts well known to the 
reader, not forgetting to dwell upon the important half-hour 
during which no trace of Lysaght could be obtained. 

When he had finished she rose and said: 

“Mr. Molleson, I will obtain the information you desire. 
Let me have your address so that I may write you.” 

“Will it take many days?” asked Molleson, as he handed 
his card to her, with his address penciled upon it. 

“No. You will hear from me very shortly. I shall 
probably call you to an interview, but I do not wish you to 
come here again. I cannot afford it.” 

“Very well. I will wait a reasonable time. But if I do 
not hear from you I certainly shall call.” 

Mrs. Crewe accompanied her visitors to the hall, and as 
they passed down the steps a middle-aged gentleman ran up, 
whom Molleson recognized as Albert Crewe. The gentle- 
man stared at them hard as they entered their carriage and. 


THE JOURNEY TO ALBANY. 113 

were driven off. Mr. Crewe passed into his house and 
found his wife in the hall. 

“What does that racing fellow want here?”- 
“Who?” innocently asked his wife. 

“Why, that blackleg, gambling fellow Molleson.” 

“He. Oh, they came to inquire about a seamstress in 
my employ some time ago — a relative, I believe — a very 
pretty girl — you recollect her?” 

Mr. Crewe recollected her only too well, and was glad to 
change the topic. His wife ascended the stairs to prepare 
for her drive. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE JOURNEY TO ALBANY. 

A bout the time that Mr. and Mrs. Molleson returned 
from their ride, Ned set out to meet his father at the 
North River steamer. He had not yet recovered from his 
wonder over his father’s demand that he should accompany 
him, nor was he any nearer a conclusion as to his father’s 
purpose. The banker was awaiting him when he arrived. 
Tpgether they dined, and afterwards, the night being unusu- 
ally warm, they went upon the upper decks to smoke. 

The banker was abstracted. The brief remarks addressed 
by the son to the father bringing no response, Ned soon 
relapsed into silence, and fell to regarding the beautiful 
scenery through which they were passing. 

The banker broke the silence abruptly. 

“Ned,” he said, “lam about to make a great change in my 
life. I shall be fifty-eight in a month. I have accumulated 
a large fortune — greater than is necessary for any man to 
have. I have kept on piling it tip, principally because it 


VIVIER. 


I14 

piled itself up, without much effort on my part these latter 
years. I have determined to retire from active business. 
My decision was only made yesterday. I want you to give 
me your close attention.” 

Startled by the abruptness of his father’s communication, 
Ned turned in surprise to him. 

The banker continued: 

‘ ‘My affairs were never in better shape for this act. Every 
enterprise I have been engaged in — I mean every venture in 
which there was the element of risk, apart from Vivier, 
Longman and Company, has been brought to a close, and 
the proceeds, and indeed all I have outside of that in the 
house, permanently invested in good real estate or sound 
securities. The firm has been doing, for a number of years, 
a safe, large, and conservative business — a strictly banking 
business. It is over ten years now since I began to take it 
out of its speculative courses. I shall draw out, leaving a 
million in as special partner, and place the responsibility of 
conduct on Longman. He is equal to it, as long as the 
house remains on its present conservative lines, and it will, 
under his guidance, as it is his natural bent. After an 
active business life of thirty-three years I am entitled to rest 
and ease, especially as necessity for further effort does not 
exist. I am worth to-day not far from fifteen millions. 
That is enough for both of us. I have sought to invest 
safely, rather than at large rates of interest. I doubt if the 
interest averages three per cent., but it is enough.” 

Ned was filled with astonishment. That his father was 
rich he knew, but that his fortune was so enormous he had 
no conception. All idea he had of his father’s wealth had 
been obtained from the public estimate of its size. Among 
his cronies Mr. Vivier was not rated above two millions. 

1 am growing more conservative as I grow older, ’ ’ said 
his father, more as if communing with himself than talking 


THE JOURNEY TO ALBANY. 


IIS 

to Ned. “The time was when the opinion of the world was 
a matter of indifference to me, and I took risks that I would 
not now dare. It seems as if there was within me an 
increasing desire to have the world’s good word. However, 
I will be out of the concern, except as a special partner, by 
the end of the month. I shall require you hereafter to 
devote a great deal of your time to me, until, in fact, you 
become thoroughly familiar with all the details of my invest- 
ments — the reasons governing me in making them. You are 
my heir. These millions will be yours when I am gone. 
After you are familiar with the details I shall expect you to 
care for the estate, — under my supervision, of course. This 
will give you the training needful to a proper administra- 
tion of the property after I am gone. A little work — occu- 
pation — will steady you, make a man of you, and accustom 
you to the forms of business.” 

Ned murmured that the prospect was not displeasing to 
him, since he had yearned for occupation a long time. But 
he was dazed by the view that had so suddenly been opened 
before him. He was troubled by a foreboding of evil to 
arise from his father’s sudden determination. 

The old gentleman, having finished his cigar about the 
time he finished his discourse, threw it away, saying as he 
arose ; 

“I have had a busy day and am tired. I’ll turn in.” 

Without waiting for reply he walked away, leaving Ned 
not yet recovered from his astonishment. By this time the 
passengers, who had in the beginning of the voyage thronged 
the outer decks, had in great part retired to their’ state- 
rooms, so that Ned found himself almost alone. He lit 
another cigar and tried to settle down to a consideration of 
the startling things he had heard — to endeavor to determine 
the effects of his father’s communication upon himself and 
his future. One of his first conclusions was that he had 


ii6 


VI VIE R. 


been summoned to the journey in order to receive this revela- 
tion, but why he could not have been informed as well at the 
club or at the office, he could not tell. He let his mind 
rove in the field of speculation, and, at a late hour, having 
apparently exhausted it, turned in himself. 

He did not sleep well, however. His slumbers were 
troubled with dreams in which his father, his riches, Ella, 
Lysaght, and his unknown bride were incongruously involved. 
Indeed the morning broke before he fell into sleep pro- 
found enough to be restful. 

It was not surprising, then, that it required his father’s 
rap at the door to rouse him. 

Dressing hastily, he joined the banker, who was impati- 
ently pacing the deck. 

“You sleep soundly,’’ he said, as Ned approached. 

“I did not last night, however,’’ replied the son. 

“You did this morning, then,’’ tartly answered the father. 
“I want my breakfast and cigar. We will get a carriage 
and go to the Kenmore.’’ 

As early as was the hour they arrived, breakfast was 
ordered at once. When it was finished, the banker said: 

“I shall be busy about various affairs until eleven. At 
that hour I want you to be in my room, promptly. In the 
meantime amuse yourself as you please. This town is curi- 
ous and quaint for an Amercian city. I advise you to drive 
about it and also to visit the Capitol. It will be worth your 
while.’’ 

He walked away with an air that suggested that until 
eleven he wished to be alone. 

Thus left to his own devices Ned went out into the street, 
going obediently to the Capitol. Here for several hours he 
found himself much interested in that singular building, 
wherein there is so much that is architecturally so good and 
so much more so bad. 


THE JO URNE Y TO ALBAN Y. 1 1 7 

Promptly at the hour designated he presented himself at 
his father’s room. 

“Good,” he said, as his son entered. “You have one 
virtue, Ned. You are prompt.” 

He gathered up the papers with which he had been busy, 
and putting them in his satchel, rose, saying : 

“Come with me.” 

He led the way a short distance down the corridor, stop- 
ped at a door and knocked. 

It was opened by a middle-aged lady, who without remark, 
or even salutation, held it open for them to pass through. 

In a corner of the room, at the window overlooking the 
busy street below, sat a young girl, whose strange beauty 
attracted Ned’s attention immediately as they entered. 

“This is my son,” said the banker to the elderly lady, as 
he took the door from her and closed it. The two bowed. 

Crossing the room the banker addressed the young girl : 

“This is the young Mr. Vivier, my dear, Ned Vivier. 
Become acquainted while we two old folks talk business.” 

Ned bowed, and drawing a chair more closely, sat down 
beside the young girl, who turned pleasantly toward him. 

The business which the banker had with the elderly per- 
son was earnest. They occupied a sofa upon the opposite 
side of the room. Whatever it was, the banker clearly was 
not pleased, and the lady apparently was defending 
herself. 

Ned, who had been surprised and somewhat bewildered by 
the unexpected turn of affairs, soon recovered his spirits in 
the presence of a pretty woman, and as usual under such 
circumstances, endeavored to make himself agreeable. 

While she was courteous and amiable, yet Ned was soon 
made aware that from some cause, which of course he could 
not ascertain, the young lady was unhappy. The expression 
of sadness he found upon her face seemed settled, and he 


ii8 


VIVIER. 


thought that the cause of which it was an expression was not 
a new one. This stimulated him to greater effort to lift her 
out of her thoughts, perhaps as much from a sympathetic 
desire to see her brighten, as from anything else. In course 
of time his efforts were rewarded. 

They had been chatting perhaps half an hour when the 
lady rose and said : 

“Come, my dear, we must go.” 

Turning to Mr. Vivier, the lady said: 

“If you are determined upon acting so quickly, I must do 
some shopping to-day. You give me but little time to do 
all that must be done.” 

“Money will do anything; spare none, and employ as 
many as are necessary to do these things quickly.” 

“Albany is not New York,” sententiously replied the 
lady. 

“Send to New York, then, for the people. But,” and he 
added sternly, “I am not in the habit of debating these 
things. I want no more protests. I want it done.” 

“Is he informed,” she asked, with a significant toss of her 
head toward Ned. 

“No, not yet.” 

The woman bent a keen glance upon the young man and 
smiled as one who would say, “You are counting without 
certainty.” 

The banker quickly interpreted both the smile and the 
glance and said: 

“I am accustomed to obedience, and shall exact it.” 

“I am afraid you will have to exact it with my charge 
then. She is not wax and does not bend easily. My task 
is difficult: it will require all my skill and powers of 
persuasiveness.” 

“Persuasiveness,” repeated the banker, contemptuously. 
“Use force.’” 


A CRITICAL SITUATION. 119 

The woman looked at the banker incredulously, but did 
not reply. 

“Come, my dear,” she said. 

The girl, who was standing at the window with Ned, joined 
the woman at the door. Bidding the father and son good- 
by, they passed out, accompanied by the two to the elevator. 

As they entered and descended, the banker re-entered the 
room, followed by Ned, where he turned upon his son as if 
to say something, when a thought seemed to cross him, and 
he caught his hat and without a word hastened down stairs, 
calling back to Ned to go into his room and wait for him. 

The young man, much perplexed over the incident, first 
walked to the window and saw the two enter the carriage 
awaiting them, which seemed to be a private one, not well 
kept up, to his eyes, fastidious in such things ; saw his father 
join them, and after a brief conversation enter the carriage 
and drive away with them. 

“Well,” said Ned, as he left the room, ‘‘what is the pater 
up to now? This looks very much like a new movement 
indeed. Is he to present me with a mother? If he is, it 
will be a most charming and beautiful one. But who is she? 
Her face is familiar. Where have I seen it before? It is 
exceedingly familiar, but my memory is not obedient to 
call.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

A CRITICAL SITUATION. 

W ONDERING over the events of the morning, Ned went 
to his father’s room. It occurred to him as he stretched 
himself out on the lounge that not once had his father men- 
tioned the name of either lady. Or, had the mention in his 
surprise escaped his attention? A rapid review of the events 


126 


VIVIER. 


determined that none had been made, and^ this gave 
him new cause for wonder. He began to believe that 
what had occurred was but preliminary to others much more 
important. Who were these women? And why did his 
father conceal their names? A thought flashed over his 
mind. Perhaps the girl was the one his father desired him 
to marry. But a moment’s reflection led him to conclude 
that such could not be the case, for in such an event his 
father would have made her known and would have given 
him some intimation of his purpose. He went back to his 
original idea that possibly she was one his father had selected 
for himself. By-and-bye he tired himself with speculation. 
In the mean time hrs father did not return. Ned wandered 
into the office of the hotel, searching for something to dis- 
tract his mind from the fruitless guessing he had been 
engaged upon for two days. 

Thus, the hours passed, and it was not until after six 
o’clock that his father made his appearance. 

As he entered he said ; 

“Well, Ned, did you think I had returned without you?” 

“No sir. Yet I have become so accustomed to unexpected 
occurrences that I should not have been surprised to have 
heard you had done so,” replied Ned quietly. ‘‘I am pre- 
pared for anything.” 

The banker bent a sharp glance upon him, as if trying 
to determine whether sarcasm was concealed in the pleasant 
tone. 

“If that is so,” he said, “then you must be prepared for- 
dinner. We will go back by boat.” 

“Then we return to-night?” 

‘‘Yes, let us dine. ” 

At the table his father made no mention of the events of 
the day, but reverted to the subject of his conversation the 
night previous, enlarging upon the plans and purposes he 


A CRITICAL SITUATION. 


121 


had briefly outlined to Ned. As he talked, Ned became 
convinced that his father was contemplating marriage, and 
had taken this roundabout method to inform him. The 
idea was not displeasing to him, and the hope was born that, 
by reason of it, he might escape his own marriage. He 
therefore listened to hear the announcement, and framed 
some graceful speeches expressing his satisfaction, which he 
thought would please his father. But the dinner ended and 
there was none. 

Eight o’clock came and the Drew swung into the river for 
its night trip, with the elder and younger Vivier on board. 
They remained on the main deck interested in the scene. 

“Let us go up on deck for a smoke,” said his father, after 
a while. 

They had hardly settled themselves comfortably before the 
banker said : 

“You noticed that girl this morning?” 

“At the hotel, you mean?” asked the son. 

“Yes.” 

“Yes, I talked with her.” 

“What do you think of her?” 

“Very charming and beautiful. Quite agreeable, in fact.” 

“That is the one I expect you to marry.” 

So totally unexpected was the result of the questioning 
which he made sure was preparatory to the announcement 
of his father’s marriage, that Ned could not reply except 
with a gesture of surprise. He maintained silence until he 
could control himself, and then he equivocated. 

“She is charming enough to reconcile a misogynist to 
marriage.” 

The face of his father brightened on hearing this. 

“I am glad to hear you say so. Great pains have been 
taken with her training and education so that she could take 
her proper place in the world when the time came. True, 


122 


VIVIER. 


it has not been the kind girls generally receive, but neverthe- 
less the true basis has been laid, and contact with the world 
and fashionable life will quickly put the polish on.” 

“She does not seem to be happy,” said Ned, seeking to 
say something to conceal his own thoughts and agitation. 
“Her manner suggested to me that she was troubled by 
some grief.,” 

“Nonsense,” replied his father, sharply turning an anx- 
ious glance upon him. “What grief could she have other 
than that for a torn dress, the death of a pet bird, or a hard 
lesson not learned. She has been a butterfly fluttering in a 
hothouse, so carefully has she been cared for.” 

“Perhaps she has been too carefully guarded, ” said Ned, 
“that her grief is melancholy from yearning after the brighter 
world out of her reach?” 

“Perhaps! Your idea is not without sense.” 

“You did not mention her name,” said the son, inquir- 
ingly. 

“No.’ 

Again that curious relationship between the two. Ned did 
not press the question. 

Both were silent for some moments. Then the silence 
was broken by the father. 

“Ned, certain events, which may or may not come to your 
knowledge in the course of time, have taken place recently, 
which materially concern me, and, consequently, concern 
you — perhaps in their indirect influences they will affect you 
more than myself. I hope they never will come to your 
knowledge. I am doing all I can to prevent it and hope to 
succeed. If they ever do you will learn them first from my 
lips.” 

The young man turned his chair so as to face his father, 
and bent forward in an attitude of great interest. 

“In order that I can put myself in shape to prevent 


A CRITICAL SITUATION. 


123 


knowledge of these matters becoming public,” continued 
the banker, “and to guard myself and you from the possible 
consequences of these events, I have entered into the plans 
and movements I informed you of last night I was not 
aware of one of them until day before yesterday. The other 
I have known a long time, but did not believe I would 
be troubled with it, or, in other words, that I would so 
arrange it that it would give no trouble.” 

Ned listened intently. 

“They are serious,” said his father, after a moment’s hesi- 
tation, — “very serious, and must be met boldly and ener- 
getically. I have not failed in my part so far, and will not 
in the future by neglecting to exert all the ability and energy 
of which I am possessed. There is something for you to do, 
and you must not fail either. You must do your part blindly, 
under my direction, and that is to marry this girl. I gave 
you two years more of liberty some days ago. I must with- 
draw that concession. These recent events have made it 
necessary. You must marry in the immediate future. Just 
what day, I will inform you. In the mean time, be pre^ 
pared. Let us have no sentimental nonsense about this. 
It is necessary to save you and me from disastrous conse- 
quences.” 

“The loss of money?” asked the son. 

“No,” replied the father. “That would be bad enough, 
perhaps, but from consequences far worse.” 

The banker rose from his chair, and stood looking down 
on his son, who was racking his brain to gather the meaning 
his father’s words were fraught with, but which had been 
skilfully concealed. Not receiving any reply he moved off. 

“I’m to bed. Good-night.” 

“Good-night,” returned his son, mechanically and almost 
unconsciously. 

Ned, realizing that his father had left him, got up and 


124 


VIVIER. 


walked to the stern of the boat. He was greatly disturbed. 
He felt that events of great importance were occurring about 
him, were likely to occur, in which he was concerned, of 
which he had no knowledge nor was he likely to have if 
their consequences were averted. But he could not see. No 
light had been given him. He was like a man walking on 
the edge of a precipice in the dark. True, a strong arm 
was guiding him, but however much reliance one may place 
on the strongest arm, one always wants to see for himself. 
He leaned over the railing and watched the rush of the 
waters below. His mind was in sympathy with them. 

Then he tried to think. What did his father mean? 
That he was in great trouble he could perceive. Indeed, it 
must have been deep trouble that had induced his father to 
give up voluntarily his place in the world of finance — a place 
that made him one of the powers in the land. He knew 
how proud he was of his position, and that only the sternest 
necessity could have induced him to voluntarily surrender it. 
He recognized with admiration the brave and masterful way 
in which his father was meeting and breasting the trouble. 
After a while this recognition wrought a curious result in 
himself. He had resented the idea of marriage at first, 
though he did not express it. He had determined to hear his 
father out, give thought to the course he should pursue, and 
then, when fully prepared, declare his purposes to his father. 
He did not intend to marry the girl. That he had deter 
mined upon while his father was talking. Thoughts of Ella 
had brought him to that determination. When the question 
of marrying the girl his father had selected was no longer a 
matter of speculation, but an actual situation he confronted, 
he found it impossible to entertain the idea of any other wife 
than Ella. He was shocked by the fact, but at the same 
time he fully appreciated, and for the first time, how closely 
she had entered into his affections. But under the influence 


A CRITICAL SITUATION. 


125 


of his father’s story, his struggle in the presence of great 
trouble, his uncomplaining, brave efforts, deliberately sacri- 
ficing without a murmur the position he had builded labori- 
ously for many years, which had become to him as the breath 
of his nostrils, in order that he, Ned, as well as himself, 
might be saved from some terrible consequence, he began to 
think that it was his duty to his father to join him in his 
sacrifice. Yet, withal, he did not think clearly. There was 
so much that was unknown to him, so much that was misty 
and vague and uncertain. If his father had only given him 
his whole confidence, told him everything, then he could 
have formed a conclusion as to his right course. The banker’s 
manner had been impressive, and he was not one to quail 
before a slight blow. The troubles, he was certain, must be 
real, actual, momentous, indeed insurmountable, since he 
was compelled to abandon the road he had traveled these 
many years, to surround them. 

Ned paced up and down the deck hour after hour, bending 
all the energies of his mind to an understanding of the situa- 
tion in which he found himself. The dawn broke upon him 
with no progress made. He was as one walking in the 
dark, blindfolded. He went to his room to snatch a few 
moments of sleep before it was necessary to go ashore. 

He was out, notwithstanding, long before his father, and 
when the latter did appear he seemed to be refreshed. 

“You look seedy,’’ he said to his son. 

“I have slept little,’’ replied Ned. 

“You should not allow anything to weigh on your mind 
when you go to bed;’’ said his father. “I attribute my 
health, strength, and endurance to go through with weighty 
matters to my ability to command sleep when I go to bed. I 
never was in more trouble than I am now, but I slept 
through the night.’’ 

The simple manner in which his father alluded to his 


126 


VIVIER. 


troubles, which Ned knew must be engrossing nearly every 
waking hour, again elicited his admiration, and did more 
towards winning the son to his father’s plans than all the 
appeals that could have been made to him, to his selfishness, 
to his instinct of self-preservation. 

They descended the stairs to the main deck. As they 
crossed to the pier, the elder Vivier said to Ned: 

“Come with me to breakfast fo lower Delmonico’s. I can 
then go early to the office, and you can go where you please. 


CHAPTER XVI. 
ned’s discovery. ‘ 

N ed parted from his father after breakfast and took a cab 
to go to his own apartments. He was much depressed 
and sorely troubled, but he had that calmness which is the 
result of the settlement of vexed questions, even though the 
settlement is not what one would have wished. He had deter- 
mined to do what his father desired, and while he was 
unhappy he was calm and quieted. He had reached the 
determination through no urging upon the part of his father. 
He felt, however, as if joy had gone out of his existence. 

He changed his costume and sought Lysaght in his studio. 
He was in want of advice and sympathy. He was quite 
certain when he put the whole matter before his friend he 
would not be blamed for the course he had determined 
upon. Acquiescence in his father’s plans was not now 
because of a cowardly fear to give up his place in the world ; 
it was a sacrifice to filial obligation. 

Entering the studio, he found a picture familiar to him. 
The artist at the easel painting, Ella on the platform posing, 
Mrs. Newton in a corner busy with her needlework. The 


NED 'S DISCO VER V. 


127 


latter was closely observant of the proprieties, and thought 
Ella should not spend hours in a studio unattended. 

Ned was given a warm welcome, and after some moments 
had been spent in chatting, he stepped to the back of Lysaght’s 
chair, that he might observe what new work the artist was 
engaged upon, mention of which had been made. 

“Great Heaven!” he cried, to the astonishment of all, 
for his tone expressed anguish. 

He was looking at the picture Lysaght was engaged upon, 
his eyes riveted to the canvas in horror. 

It was another portrait of Ines. 

In this Ines of Lysaght, Ned recognized the girl he had 
met in Albany the previous day — the one his father com- 
manded him to marry. 

Stunned by the revelation, he could not speak. Lysaght 
and Ella hurried to him, beseeching him to explain his 
distress. 

“Why did I not recognize her at once? Why did I not 
recognize her at once?” he repeated. 

“Of whom are you talking,” cried Lysaght, beside himself 
with fear. All the possibilities of mysterious and evil sur- 
rounding and antecedents Ned’s cautions had suggested, 
rolled in upon him, making him faint with apprehension. 
What dreadful things had Ned to tell him? 

“That, that, ” said Vivier, pointing to the picture, “that 
is the one my father demands I shall marry.” 

Lysaght turned pale and dropped his palette, which fell 
clattering to the floor. Ella, not comprehending the situa- 
tion, but greatly distressed at the idea of Ned’s marrying any 
one, lost color and sank trembling into a chair. Mrs. New- 
ton stepped forward and joined the group about the picture, 
remaining a silent but interested observer. 

Ned, with head clasped between his hands, fell to walk- 
ing rapidly up and down the room. It was difflcult to gather 


128 


VIVIER. 


his thoughts. He had entered fully determined on the course 
he would pursue, from a chivalric feeling that he should take 
his place beside his father in his troubles and fight shoulder 
to shoulder with him. No one would know what it had 
cost him to give up Ella, and he had felicitated himself that 
he had in no way spoken words to her which committed him 
in even a slight degree. But in the face of this situation 
what was he to do? His chosen friend, his more than 
brother, his confidant loved this girl, and the girl loved that 
friend. To go forward to the fulfillment of his father’s 
wish was to betray his friend — to take an unloving and an 
unwilling wife — to take one who loved his friend. Not to 
do it was to defeat the plans laid to avert the disaster his 
father dreaded and anticipated. Was ever a human being 
placed in so miserable a position? Following one course he 
would sacrifice his friend, Ines, Ella, himself: to take the 
other was to betray his father and precipitate consequences 
he could not fathom or measure. On either side there was 
betrayal and disappointment. Yet while he hastily con- 
sidered there was really no hesitation. Stopping in his rapid 
walk before Lysaght, he said : 

“Be not alarmed, dear friend. I do not intend to marry 
your Ines. She will be yours — now more than ever.” 

He continued his walk regardless of the others. Lysaght, 
relieved, but anxious, watched him closely. He knew that 
something more than the' discovery that Ines was the girl 
his father wished him to marry caused his great agitation. 
Whether it was that Ned saw in his refusal loss of wealth 
and position, or whether he had come to know the reason 
of his father’s stern and urgent command and the conse- 
quences to result from a failure to wed, he could not tell. 
But that some reason graver than ordinary underlay Ned’s 
great agitation, he clearly appreciated. He saw also clearly, 
that in his determination not to wed Ned had made a sacrifice. 


NED 'S DISCO VER Y. 


129 


Lysaght was grateful and glad, but at the same time he 
loathed himself for his selfishness, that could find reason 
for exultation at a time his friend was in such deep distress 
and over the very matter that made him glad. He could 
find nothing to say to comfort or to soothe. 

Poor Ella, faint, with crushed hopes she never knew until 
that moment she entertained or nurtured, watched Ned in 
distress, sick at heart and pale with fear. 

“Stan," said Ned, taking Lysaght’s hand, “we have 
never indulged in many pledges of friendship, but I think we 
have always been sure of each other. You never had cause 
to be surer of me than now. There is my hand. Ines 
shall be yours. That I pledge you on my honor as a friend. 
Let nothing occurring here to-day give you a moment’s 
uneasiness. If I am unsatisfactory it is because I am over- 
whelmed and bewildered by the complications I see arising 
from the discovery I have just made. I cannot trust myself 
to say more at present. I must have time to pull myself 
together, before I can even think intelligently." 

Turning from Lysaght, who retained his hand in a firm, 
hearty grasp, he saw Ella standing by with tears in her eyes. 

"Ella — Mrs. Newton," he said, "do not misapprehend 
this scene. That is a picture of a girl beloved by Lysaght, 
she loves him. My father has been determined for some 
time that I should marry a girl who I never knew until this 
moment; I never saw her until yesterday. There is no 
quarrel, no difference between Lysaght and myself. I never 
loved the girl, never would. There can never be anything 
but the most loving, helpful friendship between us. My 
father’s commands cannot be. I am pledged to help my 
friend to his marriage, and I must and will. There is trouble 
for us both, Stan, but we will go through with it bravely, 
old man, bravely." 

He took his hat and went out. 


130 


VIVIER. 


Lysaght followed him to the door as if he would speak 
with him further, but, thinking better of it, returned. 

“Oh, Mr. Lysaght,” crjed Ella, down whose cheeks the 
tears were rolling, “what is the meaning of it all?” 

“I do not comprehend it, Ella,” replied Lysaght gravely. 
“I have a faint glimmering of it, but so vague as to be little 
better than ignorance. However, it is something very seri- 
ous, I fear, for I never knew Vivier to be so agitated before. 
It was no time to ask questions. I must wait patiently. I 
fear it means much to Ned — disinheritance, loss of wealth 
and position. It means, I am afraid, that Ned, who has 
never done a day’s work in his life, must now labor for bis 
daily bread. I am too much disturbed to think what my 
duty is. Whatever it is, I will try to find it, and then do it, 
with my whole heart.” 

“Who is this young lady?” asked Mrs. Newton, who had 
up to this moment made no remark, pointing to the picture. 

“Ines Alloway.” 

“Do you know her parents?” 

“No.” 

“And yet are engaged?” 

“There is no formal engagement between us. I have 
declared my love for her, she has admitted her’s for me. 
As all true and happy love should lead to marriage, I presume 
we have both admitted to ourselves that this is where ours 
will lead to. As to the parents, I do not know whether she 
has any. Therein I imagine is the cause of Vivier’s trouble. 
I presume he has learned something as to her antecedents. 
In his own good time I shall know all it is proper for me to 
know.” 

Mrs. Newton made no reply, but calling Ella, who was 
by this time prepared for the street, bade the artist good- 
morning and left him alone. 

As they descended the stairs, Mrs. Newton said: 


LIGHT IN DA RK PLA CES. 1 3 1 

“ My heart aches for Mr. Vivier. I wish I could serve 
him. In our trouble he was a good and helpful friend.” 

Ella lifted quivering lips and tearful eyes to her mother, 
as she replied : 

‘‘I would give up my life to aid him.” 

“I fear,” returned her mother, “two helpless women, as 
we are, can do no more than pray for him.” 

When Ned reached the street he had no purpose before 
him. He wanted to be alone, to think, to reason. The 
events of the past two days, crowding so fiercely, had unnerved 
him. His first impulse was to seek his father and declare 
to him the impossibility of the union, but he concluded that 
he was in no frame of mind or body to encounter what he 
knew would be a severe struggle. If he must part with his 
father, it should not be in anger, and he felt he was not sure 
of himself then. He felt he ought to go away where he was 
in no danger of meeting his father, and so he determined to 
spend a few days at Long Branch, where he could take time 
to compose himself and look over his future. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

LIGHT IN DARK PLACES. 

M OLLESON regarded the delay Mrs. Crewe insisted upon 
as a device to gain time in which to consider what 
would be the results to herself of refusing to give the infor- 
mation he desired. Hence his threat to call upon her 
again if he did not hear from her within a reasonable time. 
In this he was mistaken. At the time he visited her, Mrs. 
Crewe could not give it. That with but little delay she 
could obtain it, she knew. But there was an advantage to 
be gained by delay, and that, time to devise some means by 


132 


VIVIER. 


which she could make Molleson’s anxious desire for knowl- 
edge contribute to her possession of the paper she knew 
he possessed. It was consideration of this point, traces of 
which Molleson had read in her face, which he misinterpreted. 

On the morning Ned and his father returned to the city 
from their journey to Albany, Molleson received a brief note 
requesting him to meet Mrs. Crewe at a popular dry-goods 
store, designating the counter at which he would find her. 
He had flourished the note triumphantly in the face of Mrs. 
Molleson, bidding her to save all her odd pennies to pay 
for that week at Long Branch. Promptly at the hour he 
was at the appointed place and found the fashionable Mrs. 
Crewe awaiting him. He saluted her, and was both gratified 
and astonished over her cordial welcome. Having concluded 
such purchases as she was making, she asked him to escort 
her to the carriage which was in waiting. Entering it, she 
closed the door and leaned over it to talk with him. 

“I have the information you desire,” she said, extending a 
scrap of paper. “On that you will find it. The name of 
the person in whose charge she is, and where they live. Do 
not be surprised to find, as you will, that the girl does not 
bear the name of Lysaght.” 

“Is she married?” asked Molleson. 

“No. They have changed her name. Why, I do not 
know.” 

Molleson unfolded the paper to read it, but was checked 
by Mrs. Crewe. 

“You can read that after w^e have parted. My time is 
brief, and I want to ask you a question or two. What is 
your purpose in making this inquiry?” 

“I told you. Her cousin, who has but recently learned 
he had a cousin, having lived abroad a great portion of his 
life,*has employed me to find her.” 

“Have you turned detective?” 


LIGHT IN DARK PLACES. 


133 


“No. He was referred to me, as one who could possibly 
give him information ; the outcome of the interview was, I 
undertook the search.” 

Mrs. Crewe regarded him keenly, and without removing 
her eyes, said: 

“You have another purpose as well.” 

Molleson laughed ; her shrewdness pleased him. 

“Did you not say something about a missing fortune?” 

“Yes, I told you all. Lysaght received a large sum for 
some of his inventions the day before he died. He placed 
this sum on deposit somewhere on the morning of the day 
he died so suddenly ; nobody knows where, except the per- 
son -or persons who received it.” He stopped short, and 
said earnestly, “You are quite certain those who have cared 
for the girl do not hold it in trust for her?” 

“Quite certain. I know all the circumstances, and I am 
absolutely certain she has been maintained by charity. It 
has been a careful and generous maintenance. When was 
this deposit made?” 

“The 19th of June, 1875.” 

“The day of his death?” 

“Yes.” 

Mrs. Crewe penciled the date on the inside of the cover 
of a dainty little memorandum book, Molleson watching her 
curiously. 

“You are trying to find that place of deposit?” she 
asked. 

. “Yes.” 

“For what purpose?” ' 

Molleson laughed. 

“It is a fair presumption that some one has taken advan- 
tage of his sudden death, is’nt it?” 

“I see. And if that were so, knowledge and silence would 
be valuable.” 


134 


VIVIER. 


“A fashionable life of ease and luxury has not dulled your 
wits.” 

The lady smiled slightly, rather pleased by the compli- 
ment. 

“Was nothing found to indicate the place of deposit?” 
she further asked. 

“No, or if there was, it was not heeded as important, for 
at that time not five persons were aware of the transaction 
which had raised him from poverty to riches.” 

“Ah, yes.” 

“But I do not think he made the deposit in a banking 
way — some acquaintance he trusted took it for safe-keeping, 
until he could invest it as he expected to do. 

The lady was silent while she took off one of her gloves 
and put it on again, deeply engrossed. 

“Mr. Molleson,” she said, finally, “that paper you possess 
is of great value to me and of little to you.” 

“The honor of this interview is due to it.” 

“Would you exchange it for information which would lead 
you to a discovery of that place of deposit?” 

“Willingly.” 

“I do not say that I can give you such information. But 
my memory has been stirred by our conversation, as to cer- 
tain matters which may have a bearing — at all events I will 
look them up. If I send an authorized person to you, you 
will make the exchange?” ^ 

“For satisfactory information I will.” 

“I know I can trust you, for you were always a man of 
your word.” 

“Thank you.” 

Mrs. Crewe leaned back in her carriage, saying; “Good- 
morning; will you tell the coachman to drive on?” 

Molleson did as he was bid, and lifting his hat politely 
walked off. As soon as he could turn the corner, he stepped 


LIGHT IN DA k-K PLACES. 135 

into an open doorway and read the paper Mrs. Crewe had 
given him. 

It read : 

“Girl’s name at present — Ines Alloway. 

Name of Person in charge — Mrs. Imogene Humphrey. 

Residence — Rensselaer county, at a farmer’s house. 

Route — Go to Albany, cross the river to the little village 
of Blooming Grove, four or five miles back from the. 
river, and then inquire for the house of Elias P. Cooper, 
the name of the farmer they board with.’’ 

“But who is the person who has been putting up for her,’’ 
exclaimed Molleson aloud. “Hang it, she’s tricked me after 
all.’’ 

He folded up the paper and carefully placed it in his 
pocket-book ; as he did so he muttered : 

“No, she has done all she agreed to do. I never asked 
her for that. How stupid I was! By George, I am not half 
so clever as I flatter myself I am.’’ 

He stepped out on to the pavement and walked up Four- 
teenth Street until he reached Broadway, and stood still on 
the corner, as if undetermined which way he should go. 

“The question,’’ he muttered to himself, “is, to what use 
shall I put this information? And what have I gained by 
it? The second is easily answered. I have found the girl 
is alive, and has not received the money. As to the other, 
it is not so. easy to find an answer.’’ 

He retraced his steps and walked up Union Square as far 
as Tiffany’s, and being attracted to a display in the window 
of that famous house, stopped to inspect it. As he reached 
the window an idea flashed across his mind. 

“By Godfrey, that is so!’’ he cried aloud, “Certain, of 
course. My brain is working. Those people caring for the 
girl have done so as a purely voluntary act, under no authority 


136 


VIVIER. 


of law — no matter what their ultimate purpose was. Now 
here is a cousin, a relative, her next of kin. He has a right 
to inquire, to take possession. I am on the right track now. 
That is it. The thing to do is to go straight to him with 
my information, and set him to work.” 

He turned short on his heel, crossed to the park, and rapidly 
made his way toward Fourth Avenue. But when in the 
middle of the park, he stopped short. 

“Softly, softly,” he said. ‘T may chouse myself out of 
all benefits. I go too fast. Let me examine this point. 
He’ll have to go to law for possession.” 

He seated himself on an adjacent bench and meditated. 

“I needn’t tell him all,” he said, putting his thoughts into 
words. “By sticking close to his elbow I can suggest this 
turn and that and use the information he obtains, delaying 
a little and pushing ahead as I want. It ought not to be 
difficult to control him. There is a risk, to be sure, but 
there is no gain without some risk.” 

He hurried on and was soon at Lysaght’s studio. 

The artist was alone, and a keen observer like Molleson 
could easily perceive that the artist was laboring under much 
excitement and agitation. He had not yet recovered from 
the effects of the exciting scene Ned had made in his studio 
that morning. 

Molleson, assuming not to notice his agitation, began at 
once with an apology. 

‘T asked an interview for last evening, Mr. Lysaght, under 
the belief that I would be in possession of the information 
you commissioned me to secure. But I was disappointed, 
and awaited so long that I could neither send you word nor 
come myself.” 

“Bless me ! ” exclaimed the artist, ‘ T had entirely forgot- 
ten the appointment, and was not here.” 

“It is as well then,” laughed Molleson, “and no harm is 


LIGHT HSr DARK PLACES, 137 

done. I have been longer in my work than I supposed I 
would be. But I have found your cousin now.” 

“Yes,” said the artist, his interest now fully enlisted, “You 
have found her? She is alive?” 

“Yes, and I am told a most charming young lady, well 
educated and well trained, but she does not bear the name 
of Lysaght.” 

“Ah, she is married,” said the artist, in a peculiar tone, 
whether expressive of relief or disappointment, Molleson 
could not determine. 

“No, those who have had her in charge have changed 
her name. Why, I am unable to tell you and neither can 
my informants. However, it is Ines Alloway.” 

“Ines Alloway,” shouted the artist, springing to his feet, 
his face expressing the utmost surprise and consternation. 
“Can it be possible?” 

“Do you know her, then?” asked Molleson, equally aston- 
ished and moreover alarmed. 

“Know her? Know her?” repeated Lysaght, excitedly, 
“Why, we are to be married.” 

“The devil you say?” 

Molleson fell back in his chair limp, overcome, and 
bewildered by this singular and unexpected turn of affairs. 

‘ Tnes my cousin! Ines my cousin!” repeated the artist 
again and again, as a thousand ideas jostled over his con- 
sciousness, chief among which was that the relationship might 
operate as a bar to their union. 

The first to regain full possession of his senses was Mol- 
leson, who quickly saw that if some of his plans must be 
abandoned others were strengthened by the new situation. 

“Do you know those who have her in charge?” he asked. 

“Oh yes, Mrs. Humphrey.” 

“But she is simply a governess, a guardian,” replied 
Molleson. “Some one is ‘putting up’ — that is to say, some 


VIVIER. 


13S 

one is providing the funds for the support of your cousin, 
AVho is this person?” 

Lysaght was about to reply to this question, when it 
occurred to him that after all he knew nothing positively — 
that it was supposition. So he said: 

“We suppose it is Mr. James Vivier.” 

“Who?” interrupted Molleson, excitedly — “the banker 
Vivier. The devil you say! What a fool, what a stupid 
fool I was not to guess it ! ” 

It was the adventurer who was now the excited man, and 
the artist really thought his visitor had taken leave of his 
senses, for the usually dignified Molleson was beating his 
head with his clenched fists. 

“Tell me what you know?” demanded Molleson, sud- 
denly foregoing his self-inflicted punishment. 

Nothing but the mental and nervous condition in which 
the events of the day had left him, could have induced 
Lysaght to make a confidant of this stranger, as he really 
was, and whom the artist believed was an adventurer. 

But he did, and told the long story minutely, omitting no 
details, even recounting the scene in his studio that morning. 

Molleson listened with rapt attention. Light was break- 
ing in on him from many sources, and hope was rising in 
his breast steadily. But he gave no confidence or informa- 
tion in return. 

When Lysaght’ s tale was finished, he pondered over it a 
long time, trying to fit into it, and piece it out with, such 
facts as were in his possession. 

“Where is young Mr. Vivier?” he asked abruptly. 

“I have learned by note, only a short time before you came, 
that he had gone to Long Branch for a few days. He is 
much distressed over the situation we all find ourselves in. ” 

Molleson relapsed into thought again. At length he roused 
himself and stood up. 


LIGHT IN DARK PLACES. 


139 


“Mr. Lysaght,” he said, earnestly and impressively, 
“I think in a few days I shall be able to give you material 
assistance. In the mean time I ask you to do nothing with- 
out consultation with me.” 

Perceiving an expression of annoyance not unmixed with 
haughtiness sweep over the face of the artist, he added 
quickly : 

“Don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Lysaght. I can help you 
a great deal more than you think I can, and shall not conceal 
from you that I will help myself also. In doing so I shall 
not harm you. Miss Alloway, or your friend Vivier, — rather 
serve you well.” 

He hesitated and regarded Lysaght keenly. 

“If you will permit me,” he continued, “I will be very 
frank with you. You will not, you ought not to take offence, 
if I persume to offer you some advice in this situation. I am 
an older man than you, and, I take it, in matters of the 
world I have had more experience than will fall to your lot, 
or than you might wisely wish for.” 

He had not removed his eyes from those of Lysaght, 
while he was talking, and he read accurately the sensation 
he was producing in the breast of the artist. 

“I presume, Mr. Lysaght,” he continued, “you have 
heard me charactized as a gambler, an adventurer, a black- 
leg. I know I have been called all these things. Gambler 
I am ; necessity and perhaps inclination drove me to it. Do 
I live by my wits? Yes. Blackleg I am not. No one can 
lay a finger on any shady transaction of mine on the turf, 
and that is the only place where I do gamble. If you were 
to inquire among racing men you would learn that Harry 
Molleson deals honorably wuth every one, meets promptly 
every obligation, is a man of his word. As an adventurer 
I have dpubtless done many things which would not square 
with your notions of strict propriety and high honor, but 


140 


VIVIER. 


dishonest things — never. I was a gentleman once and 
started fairly in life, but circumstances of which I was a 
victim — a victim — sent me into the courses I am pursuing." 

He paused to perceive the effect he had produced, and 
saw he had excited the interest and sympathy of Lysaght. 

“I have been thus frank with you," he said, continuing, 
"that there shall be no reason for misunderstanding .my 
motives. I shall profit by this situation, not at your expense 
or of those in whom you are interested. I shall be on 
your side, assisting you, but not in an open manner, which 
will bring discredit upon you. You can trust me implicitly, 
and I assure you, you will have no cause to regret your trust. 
Now as to my advice. I desire to call your atjtention to a 
fact which has escaped you. In doing so you will admit I 
am giving you material assistance. If I have not misunder- 
stood you, you are distressed over the situation which yoUr 
friend Vivier is in — the danger of a quarrel with his 
father — of his disinheritance." 

Lysaght replied eagerly in the affirmative. 

Molleson continued: 

"If you will follow my advice you can prevent these 
possibilities — can aid him and yourself. Now as to the fact: 
Miss Alloway, who is really Miss Lysaght, is your relative, — 
is now in the custody of a person who has no authority of 
law for such custody. You are her next of kin, her natural 
guardian, since no nearer kin lives. Exert your authority 
and prevent this marriage urged by Vivier — then young 
Vivier will not be compelled to refuse his father’s request." 

Lysaght sprang from his seat elated; all the possibilities 
of the new phase were presented to him as by a flash. He 
grasped Molleson’s hand, crying, "You are indeed a wise 
counselor." 

"But," said Molleson, warningly, "You have a stern, force- 
ful, cunning, able man to combat, in the banker Vivier, who 


LIGHT IN DARK FLACKS. 


141 

is far more than your match in the open field, and who 
can exert powers, and influence authorities and courts, in 
a manner you little dream of.” 

The artist made a gesture of lofty indifference to all 
these powers and influence. 

“Don’t underestimate your opponent,” urged Molle- 
son. “It is a very pretty fiction that the judiciary is the 
palladium of ouf liberties. But politics influence the 
judiciary, money rules politics, and the elder Vivier has 
riches. He is a large contributor to both parties, and 
wields very great, though unseen influence. The easiest 
way is the best here. Work in the dark. You are to 
marry Miss Alloway. Induce her to leave her present 
abode and marry her immediately. Then you will be 
doubly armed and entrenched, and your enemy is power- 
less.” 

The artist was struck with the cogency of this reason- 
ing, and was convinced. 

“Does young Mr. Vivier know that Miss Alloway is 
your cousin, do you think?” asked Molleson. 

“Does not dream of it,” replied the artist, decidedly. 

“Then summon him at once and inform him. Con- 
sult him as to the suggestions I have made. But let me 
suggest, that the meetings of young Vivier and yourself 
should be as secret as possible. Should he come to 
know that you and his son were in collusion to defeat 
his plans, he might yet visit his displeasure upon Vivier 
the younger. He is a vindictive old devil.” 

Lysaght, eager to move upon the enemy’s entrench- 
ments, promised to summon Ned at once by telegraph, 
and announced that so soon as Ned returned he would 
go at once to Ines and marry her. 

Molleson smiled. 

“ Don’t go too fast. ‘ Slow but sure,’ should be your 


142 


VIVIER. 


maxim. But whatever you do, advise with me, for I 
think that at all times I will have an inkling of the plans 
of the enemy.” 

He took up his hat and got as far as the door when he 
said : 

“ I will see you to-morrow morning after you have 
seen Mr. Vivier, or perhaps with him.” 

Lysaght accompanied him to* the head of the stairs, 
and warmly shook him by the hand, promising he would 
make no move unknown to the adventurer. 

He was wholly sincere. He had been fairly captured 
by Molleson’s frankness and astuteness. The latter’s 
arguments were to his mind conclusive, since they ran 
so closely on the lines of his own inclinations. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE banker’s counter-plot, 

U NAWARE of the events occurring in another part 
of the city and threatening the successful issue of 
his plans, Mr. Vivier, the banker, was bravely struggling 
with the troubles that beset him. The office, in addition 
to its usual duties, was busy with the labors consequent 
upon the impending change in the partnership. The 
banker, however, devoted the greater part of his time 
to his private affairs, and chief among them were the 
evils he apprehended and was bending such energies to 
avert. 

It was characteristic of the man, that though he fully 
realized these evils were the consequences of his indul- 
gence of unbridled passions in former years, he wasted 
no time in remorse or vain repinings. He accepted them 
as facts to be confronted and overcome. . He attacked 


THE BANKERS S COUNTER-PLOT. 


143 


them with that ability, calm bravery, and headlong 
energy which had been conspicuous qualities in his rise 
to wealth and power. 

There were two James Viviers in one. The one the 
world knew was the one seen in the bank parlor, at the 
club, and in the home circle. Those who sat with him 
at the council board, who had listened to him when he 
had been summoned to give advice as to the nation’s 
finances, who followed as they had seen him take the 
leadership in matters of vast importance to the state, and 
had admired the sagacity and wisdom displayed, could 
not have been made to believe that there was another in 
the same man, who displayed a weakness, as lamentable, 
as in other circles he had shown a strength so admirable. 
Those who had seen him attacking a problem seemingly 
insolvable, cutting into it with precise strokes, scattering 
to the right and left the extraneous ideas which befogged 
and complicated it, and cleaving his way to the core, 
laying it bare so that the meanest intelligence could grasp 
and comprehend it, would not have believed that he was 
fresh from scenes of indulgence the night previous, 
incredible in their vanity and silliness. They could not 
have believed that this Samson was a babe in the hands 
of the Delilah. Yet, such was the truth, and just now 
the strong man was paying the debts of the weaker one. 

On the morning of his return from Albany he reached 
his office long before any of the clerks made their appear- 
ance. He was admitted to his room by the wondering 
janitor, and lighting his cigar, a constant companion in 
all moods and under all circumstances, he stood at the 
door of his own private room and overlooked the larger 
office with its crowded desks, bearing mute testimony to 
the business done in later hours. 

“ Well,” he said, ‘‘ the end has come. The fellow can 


144 


VIVIER. 


have the satisfaction of knowing that he has driven me 
from active business. I was compelled to do it so as to 
put myself in position for possible consequences, if I 
cannot avert the blow. It is hard, yet it would have had 
to come some time. Still, there was ten years’ work in 
me yet.” 

He went to his desk and began a systematic overJiaul- 
ing of the crowded pigeon-holes and drawers ; examin- 
ing the papers closely, destroying some and indorsing 
others. He was thus engaged when the clerks came in 
to take up their duties for the day. 

When his confidential clerk, Wheeler, came in, he called 
him to him, saying : 

“ Wheeler, I have a matter of considerable importance 
for you to attend to. It is simple, if you will follow my 
instructions, and I want you to follow them obediently. 
Listen to me attentively. Some years ago, in January 
1876, I think, at a supper given at a restaurant in Uni- 
versity Place, a young man, either a divinity student or 
an ordained clergyman, I am not informed which, was 
called, on a specious pretext as I am told, to perform a 
marriage ceremony between two of those who were sup- 
ping there ; I am further informed that this young man 
did perform such ceremony, not knowing that it was all 
sport and a marriage not really intended. This matter 
has only recently come to my knowledge, and some grave 
complications are likely to arise from it. Now I want 
you to go to that minister — he lives in Brooklyn, I will 
give you his name and address — and learn from him 
these things : 

“ First, was he a divinity student or a regularly 
ordained minister ? I suspect .strongly, from what I have 
heard of the man, that he was. regularly ordained, or he 
would not have attempted to perform the ceremony. 


THE BANKER'S COUNTER-PLOT. 145 

“ Second, I want to know whether he gave to the 
woman he supposed he was marrying, a certificate of 
marriage. 

“ Here is another point 1 want to impress strongly 
upon you. Do not attempt to find out the names of the 
persons he married ; if he undertakes to mention them 
stop him imperatively. If you vary from these instruc- 
tions in this, I will find it out ; so be careful. There is 
something more I want you to determine satisfactorily, 
and that is, what kind of a church he has — whether it 
seems to be prosperous and with a wealthy membership ; 
whether the minister seems to be in easy circumstances, 
enjoying a comfortable salary and is living at ease. Do 
you understand me ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ This mission will require the exercise of tact and 
judgment, Wheeler, and well done, will be another reason 
why I should make your future my care. Now go along. 
Upon your return I will have another mission equally 
as important. Here is the name and address of the 
minister.” 

The banker handed the clerk a piece of paper. The 
clerk immediately departed. His errand carried him a 
long distance into Brooklyn, to a street crossing Fourth 
Avenue some distance below Atlantic. The house in 
which the clergyman lived was a modest two-story brick 
house, and on applying at the door Wheeler was 
informed that the one he sought was in his study, but 
would doubtless see him immediately. He was ushered 
into the parlor by a lady whom Wheeler surmised was 
the clergyman’s wife, and he noted that she seemed worn 
and anxious. As he sat himself down in a rocking-chair, 
he looked about. 

“ These rooms,” he said to himself, “ do not indicate 


146 


VIVIER. 


the possession of unbounded and limitless wealth. Our 
friend has come pretty close to the injunctions. There 
isn’t much scrip or staff about this, in appearance at 
least.” 

At this moment a man of thirty-five or six entered the 
room. Wheeler laid his business before him. 

“ Yes^” the minister’s recollection of the incident was 
clear, and he looked very grave over the matter. 

“ This is something,” he said, “ that has given me many 
moments of deep distress. I have reproached myself 
rnuch over it. The only excuse I could offer to myself 
was my youth and inexperience. I have always feared 
that there was something wrong about it. How, or in 
what way, I have never been able to determine satis- 
factorily, Perhaps you will enlighten me now ? ” 

To this, Wheeler replied that he knew nothing of the 
matter, nor the reasons which had caused inquiry at so 
late a day ; that he was commissioned only to ask the 
two questions. 

“I certainly can do no wrong in replying to them,” 
said the clergyman, after a moment’s pause. “Yes, I was 
a regularly ordained minister, or I should not have 
attempted to perform a marriage ceremony. At that 
time I had only been ordained a day or two. While I was 
pursuing my theological studies I was boarding in Uni- 
versity Place, and had not yet given up my rooms after 
ordination. One night, as I was about to retire, there 
was a ring at the door and I was called down. There 
stood a man whom I recognized as a neighbor with whom 
I had a slight acquaintance, but whose name I cannot for 
the life of me recall, nor can I any of the parties now, for 
I was much embarrassed. It was the first ceremony I 
had ever performed. Well, he told me, my services were 
required, and he said to me, ‘ Make no inquiries, nor re- 


THE BANKER'S COUNTER-PLOT. 


147 


marks at what you see, and remember that you are em- 
ploying your holy office to right a wrong ; that you are 
setting the feet of a young girl, who has been straying, 
on the path of honesty.’ Without further question T 
followed him, and was taken into a room which was a 
scene of revelry. I was not quite satisfied ; the people 
were of the better classes evidently, the man much older 
than the girl, but I thought I knew the situation and that 
the man was ready to make amends and reparation. But 
there was much levity and little recognition of the solem- 
nity of the vows they were to take, I performed the 
ceremony, and as the man handed me a generous sum as 
a fee, the others, including the bride, pressed me to drink, 
tempting me in every way. In my horror and disgust 
and anxiety to escape I hurried away, forgetting to make 
out the certificate. And so your second question is an- 
swered. The fact that subsequently I could get no satis- 
faction from the man who summoned me, and that he 
said that no certificate was wanted when I spoke to him, 
gave me uneasiness.” 

Wheeler asked him the hour at which this ceremony, 
was performed ; the clergyman replied that it must have 
been between eleven and twelve o’clock. 

Having obtained the information as to the ceremony, 
Wheeler led him to talk about his charge, and learned 
that it was a struggling church, with a limited member- 
ship of people who were not wealthy, but were kind and 
good, and that he had been voted a vacation of two 
months through the kindness of his people, who were 
worried as to his health ; but the minister laughed sadly 
when he said that vacations cost money, and he feared 
he would have to be content with the spirit of good will 
and kindness shown him by his congregation. 

By inquiries in the neighborhood, skilfully put, Wheeler 


148 


VIVIER. 


supplemented the information he had obtained from the 
clergyman, and learned that he was very poor. Hasten- 
ing to the banker he made his report. 

Mr. Vivier evinced lively satisfaction over it, and made 
Wheeler tell him particularly as to the clergyman’s pov- 
erty and the vacation, without funds, granted him* by his 
congregation. 

“ Now,” he said, “ I have another matter, more diffi- 
cult and possibly more agreeable. Do you know of a 
young woman calling herself Rose Geranium ? ” 

Wheeler had heard of such a person, and had in fact 
seen her once. 

“ Could you find her address ? ” asked the banker. 

Wheeler thought he could without difficulty. 

“ Do so at once then, and finding her, take these two 
enclosures to her. Hand her this one, which is addressed 
to her, and when she has read it, hand her this one 
unaddressed. Observe the same instructions I gave you 
in respect of preventing her from mentioning names ; 
refuse to listen if she attempts to speak of them ; and 
on no account read either of these enclosures, even if 
she offers them to you, and when you come to me with 
your report immediately forget you ever went to her.” 

Wheeler departed on his second mission of the day. 
The banker proceeded to draw a check and summoned 
another clerk. He handed the check to him, saying : 

“ Patten, I have a curious errand for you to perform, 
and I rely upon your discretion and tact to accomplish it 
successfully. I want you to get the cash on that check 
and — um — what day is this, Friday — yes — well, go to 
that line whose steamers sail on Tuesday, and purchase 
two tickets for outward and homeward passages, for this 
man and his wife, to Europe you know. If there is any 
trouble about staterooms see the agent with my complin 


THE BANKER'S COUNTER-PLOT. 


149 


merits, and say it must be arranged. There will be at 
least a thousand dollars left. Go to this address and see 
this man yourself. This is the difficult part of your 
business. Say to him that you represent a man who 
makes it a rule to hunt up deserving cases among the 
ministry and offer them the expenses of their vacation ; 
that he is eccentric and refuses to be known in the mat- 
ter ; that he desires him to accept these tickets — good 
only for Tuesday next ; and that in order to pay the 
expenses of himself and wife abroad, this man contributes 
one thousand dollars. You must make him accept and 
act. The time is short, but you must overcome any 
objections he raises. Accomplish this and by no means 
fail. Use all your tact, and if you don’t succeed never 
let me see you again. And under no circumstances dis- 
close my name.” 

When he was alone the banker soliloquized. 

“ If I can succeed in these enterprises I think I will 
have Mr. Henry Molleson where he will find it difficult 
to substantiate any story of his for a while — at all events 
until after I have carried the other matter to an end and 
disposed of it. Then I can meet Mr. Molleson’s scheme 
and cope with it successfully.” 

The clerk, Patten, returned before Mr. Vivier was 
ready to leave his office for the day, with the story that 
the person to whom he had gone had accepted the gifts 
on the understanding he was to sail on Tuesday, with 
tears in his eyes, and Mr. Vivier rubbed his hands in 
great glee. 

On the following Sunday, after he had closed his ser- 
mon, the clergyman upon whom Wheeler had called, said 
to his congregation : 

“ I have a great marvel to relate to you, my dear 
people. God’s Providence is manifested in inscrutable 


VIVIER. 


150 

ways. We may sometimes repine and lose faith and 
complain that our lot in life is hard, but the hand of His 
mercy is broad and covereth all things. Men there are 
who go up and down the world doing good by stealth, 
letting not their left hand know what their right doeth. 
This dear people gave their pastor, by a vote full of 
sweet comfort, a vacation of two months, and while my 
heart warmed and leaped with joy over the tender solici- 
tude shown, yet was I sad, when I thought that the 
means necessary to the fulfillment of my dear people's 
wish that I should gather strength and regain failing 
health in other climes, were not mine. Yet, at the 
moment of my deepest despair, the Master inspires one of 
those men to whom He has granted riches that they may- 
do these things, to make my way clear. Last Friday I 
was waited upon by a young man who is the agent of this 
good man in his benefactions, who refuses to permit his 
good deeds to be blazoned forth, and was presented with 
tickets to Europe for myself and dear wife and a gen- 
erous sum to bear our expenses. On Tuesday next we 
sail. On Monday evening at the parsonage the pastor 
will be glad to take his dear friends by the hand to bid 
them a brief farewell. Let us thank God for his mani- 
fold mercies and tenderness. Let us pray." 

And the simple congregation bent their heads reverently, 
thanking an overruling Providence that such good men 
were raised up to do good by stealth. And so out of the 
chain of intrigue the banker was forging, a good deed was 
wrought. 


PF/SB AS A SERPENT. 


15I 


CHAPTER XIX. 

WISE AS A SERPENT. 

M OLLESON was awaiting results from the employ- 
ment of a lawyer and detective. He also hoped 
that assistance might come from Mrs. Crewe. Until 
something had developed from these agencies he did not 
wish Lysaght to move toward conclusive action. If 
he could find the place of deposit of the inventor’s for- 
tune without the artist’s participation or knowledge, he 
felt that he could benefit largely, and in such event 
Lysaght would not be a factor in the problem. But if 
the means he was now employing failed, then he doubtless 
would be compelled to put the artist, as the husband of 
the heir, forward to lead the search, when his share must 
of necessity be much smaller. Hence, he must so shape 
and guide the movements of Lysaght and Ned, that they 
could be restrained or pushed forward as would best suit 
his purpose. Fortunately for him, Lysaght gave no heed 
to the fortune ; the artist had lost sight of it entirely in 
the more startling consideration that tlje girl whom Ned’s 
father desired him to marry, was the one he wished to wed, 
and that she was his cousin. 

Pursuant to his purpose then, of keeping Lysaght and 
his actions in view, on the afternoon following the day he 
had conveyed the startling information as to the identity 
of Ines, he visited the studio. It was about the hour 
that the banker Vivier was dispatching one clerk to Rose 
Geranium and another to induce the minister, who had 
married them, to go to Europe. 

Arriving; he found Ned, who had come up from Long 
Branch in obedience to the excited telegram from Lysaght. 

The artist was reciting to his friend the wonderful tale, 
when Molleson rapped for admission. Lysaght carried 


152 


VIVIER. 


him at once into the painting room, and that they might not 
be interrupted, hung upon the door the sign “Engaged.” 
Ned was not over well pleased that Molleson should be 
taken into their confidence, and, though he said nothing, 
betrayed his dislike by his manner so unmistakably that 
Molleson felt the necessity of placating him, and at the 
same time demonstrating how valuable and important were 
the services he, Molleson, was rendering. He therefore 
said ; 

“You will learn, Mr. Vivier, as your friend’s story pro- 
ceeds, that my presence is not an intrusion — that the 
information which places you in a position to escape the 
difficult situation you are in, was obtained and conveyed 
by me to Mr. Lysaght. ” 

Ned, a little abashed and much astonished at the quick- 
ness with which Molleson had read him, replied, apolo- 
getically : 

“We are dealing with matters which touch Mr. Lysaght 
and myself most privately. I was not aware you were 
acquainted wuth our troubles. If you are, of course, I 
have no objection to offer — ’’ 

“All we know,” broke in the artist, “that gives us 
light, was brought to us by Molleson. More than that: 
It was his wise brain that conceived the way to escape 
from the complications which entangle us.” 

This satisfied Ned, and Lysaght continued his recital, 
concluding it with a statement of the advice given by 
Molleson, not forgetting the cautious suggestion of the 
latter that both Lysaght and Ned should so conduct them- 
selves, that no reason should be given to the elder Vivier 
to suppose they were in collusion to defeat his purpose. 

At its conclusion, Ned was quite as elated as his friend 
had been. The clouds had lifted and the horizon was 
bright. 


PV/SJS AS A SERPENT. 


153 


“But why,” he asked, “is it not the simplest method 
to go at once to my father and say: ‘This Miss Alloway 
is Lysaght’s daughter; Stanley Lysaght, her cousin, is 
her next of kin, her natural guardian; he forbids this 
marriage?’ ’’ 

This proposition commended itself to Lysaght as being 
wise and manly. 

“It is manly,” replied Molleson with a smile. “But 
as to its being wise, I am not quite so certain. Permit 
me to suggest that before Mr. Lysaght can assume a 
legal guardianship, which would permit him taking such 
an attitude, he would have to prove beyond question he 
was next of kin. That would be a matter of delay. Mr. 
Vivier would not accept his dictum as truth.” 

The faces of Ned and Lysaght fell. 

“But why not,” persisted Ned. “Quite evidently my 
father assmued this care from a charitable motive.” 

Molleson’s face wore a deprecatory smile as he replied: 

“I should be the last to attack your father’s motive, 
to his son, Mr. Vivier, but,” and he paused to give full 
effect to his words, “but does it not occur to you that 
there was an additional motive when the name of the girl 
was changed from Lysaght to Alloway?” 

Ned’s face showed that he appreciated the point, but 
he did not reply. 

“There certainly is,” continued Molleson, “the sug- 
gestion of an attempt at concealment in the act. And 
that leads nfie to say further, that to carry out your pro- 
position it would be necessary for Mr. Lysaght to estab- 
lish beyond cavil that Ines Alloway is the daughter of 
Mr. Lysaght the inventor. True, he can do it. I could 
make it so clear that no court could escape the conclu- 
sion. But I could only do so, should your father contest 
it, by the exposure of a woman who is doing all she can 


154 


VIVIER. 


to forget and cover a period of her life from the world — 
by a disruption of a family standing high in society. I 
would avoid this if I could.” 

“But would not that result from your plan as well,” 
asked Ned. 

“I think not. I assume that the change of name 
touches the cause which makes your father eager to 
marry you to her. Suppose you do go in advance and 
say to your father what you propose, and he replies 
‘Prove that,’ though in his heart he admits its truth and 
is willing to admit it after,” he paused and looked at 
Ned — “after he has forced this marriage; but know- 
ing Mr. Vivier well, for I was in his employ many years, 
I know that he has a deep reason for desiring your mar- 
riage, since he desires it at all. Well, believing the two 
to touch, he would have an incentive for denying the 
claim until after the marriage was forced, or refused by 
you, with all the disastrous consequences. But if, on the 
other hand, Mr. Lysaght were to marry the girl and then 
perfer his claim, the purpose of your marriage being 
defeated, and having no incentive to contend against or 
deny the claim, he would yield, and there would be no 
necessity for recourse to the courts. In other words, by 
your plan you fight from the outside, by mine from the 
inside.” 

Both Lysaght and Ned acknowledged the force of this 
reasoning. 

“Again,” continued Molleson, “Mr Lysaght would be 
open to the charge of not being wholly disinterested in 
his endeavor before his marriage. Afterward the motive 
would be lost sight of in the possession.” 

Ned pondered over the situation as presented by 
Molleson for some time, and then said : 

“ I presume you are right. At all events, a very dis- 


tV/SE AS A SERPENT. 


ISS 

agreeable publicity would be avoided.” He added : “It 
is then your opinion that, for a time at least, communi- 
cation between Lysaght and myself should cease.” 

“ Not cease, perhaps. But should be guarded from 
observation, so as not to excite alarm or suspicion. At 
present your father does not know you are aware of the 
identity of Miss Alloway, or that you know she is engaged 
to Mr. Lysaght ? ” 

“ No, but he knows of the intimacy existing between 
Lysaght and myself.” 

“ Perhaps, and perhaps also that Mr. Lysaght and Miss 
Alloway have met, and this will account for his strange 
reticence as to the name of the person he desires you to 
marry, and for the fact that when he presented you to 
her, he concealed her name. He was, in my judgment, 
guarding against the possibility of your discovery that 
the bride he proposed to you was the Miss Alloway your 
friend and intimate had made tenders of affection to.” 

Ned began to look with admiration upon the ability 
and keen reasoning powers of the man who, he was 
inclined to believe at first, was purely an adventurer — a 
sharper — a turf habitu^ of the ordinary stripe. He con- 
cluded that the man was possessed of powers of mind 
above the common run. 

“ Of course,” concluded Molleson, “ you will under- 
stand this is a suggestion made in your interest. There 
is no reason why you should be prejudiced in the eyes 
of your father unnecessarily. You can accomplish noth- 
ing, help no one, by putting yourself into this contest. 
Indeed, the greatest assistance you can give is by seeming 
to acquiesce in your father’s plans.” 

“ Well, Ned,” cried Lysaght, “ are you convinced ? I 
am. The course pointed out by Molleson seems to me 
the only practical one.” 


VIVIER, 


156 

“ Yes,” replied Ned, “ I see the wisdom of it.” 

“ Well then,” said the ardent Lysaght, “ let us go 
about it at once. Do not let us lose a moment. I am 
already in secret communication with Miss Alloway. 
Delays are dangerous.” 

“ Not in this,” said Molleson, smiling. “ There is no 
immediate hurry.” 

The artist turned upon him irritably. 

“ Why, may I ask ?” 

Because there is no immediate danger,” replied Mol- 
leson. “ The marriage urged by Mr. Vivier, the elder, 
cannot take place without Mr. Vivier the younger being 
a party to it, can it ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Then as he has not been notified as to the date of 
the wedding, it cannot be imminent. If I have been 
properly informed by you, there are no indications in the 
correspondence of the young lady that the subject has 
even been broached to her ? ” 

“That is true.” 

“While I do not counsel delay,.! do condemn hasty 
'action. What you should do, it seems to me, first, is to 
inform Miss Alloway of the plans of Mr. Vivier as to her 
future; accustom her to this consideration and also to 
the fact, from which she will naturally shrink at first, that 
these plans are to be defeated only by elopement. I 
think also that consideration should be given to the fact 
as to whether or not she ought to be told of the relation- 
ship existing between you — of her own identity. The 
plans, of elopement, if agreed upon, should be carefully 
laid, so that there would be no failure — failure would be 
fatal. All these things will take time. You are in a 
position to be promptly informed of the movements of 
the enemy. Mr. Vivier and Miss Alloway each from 


PV/SB AS A SERPENT. I57 

their side can tell you everything. You cannot be taken 
by surprise.” 

Against this reasoning there was no contending, and 
the two young men acknowledged it. Thereupon the 
three fell into a discussion as to the best means of con- 
veying to Ines the information in their possession. Mol- 
leson was strongly inclined to the project of a journey to 
the neighborhood on the part of Lysaght, and a secret 
meeting with Ines, which could be arranged through the 
boy Ben. Ned feared that Lysaght would be discov- 
ered, but Molleson argued that Lysaght could journey 
by night and drive from Albany in a covered carriage, 
and that in a personal interview with Ines he could ar- 
range matters more definitely, could show Ines the dan- 
gers to be overcome more impressively, and if she were 
disposed to shrink from an elopement, use his powers of 
persuasiveness with more effect than he could hope to do 
by letter. 

Upon the point as to whether Lysaght should discover 
to Ines their relationship, Molleson urged strongly that 
he should, upon the ground that it would give Ines addi- 
tional and strong reasons for committing herself to the 
care and guidance of Lysaght. 

So, these being agreed to, the only question remaining 
was what time should Lysaght set out on his journey. 
Molleson again was the one provided with ideas. It was 
then Friday. The boy Ben must be communicated with 
in advance, the farmer with whom Lysaght stayed must 
be informed of his coming, and made to understand that 
mention must not be made of his visit until he could ar- 
rive and explain the necessity of concealment. There- 
fore, it would be well to set the following Wednesday as 
the day, unless in the mean time something occurred to 
render an earlier journey necessary. 


158 VIVIER, 

These details having been agreed upon, the conference 
was adjourned, and Molleson departed well pleased with 
himself and the manner in which he had taken the lead- 
ership. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE banker’s strange MOVE. 

N ed was not at ease. The way of escape for himself 
and Lysaght was clear, to be sure, but he had been 
drawn into a conspiracy against his father. He felt that 
he was playing the part of a traitor. His father was 
relying upon him, and he was failing. Perhaps, to a cer- 
tain extent, he was justified in his course, since his father 
had demanded blind obedience ; if greater confidence 
had been reposed in him, he could have been better able 
to determine his way. If it were not for the fact that 
his father had intimated that a danger threatened him, 
which would be averted by Ned’s marriage to Ines, the 
conspiracy would not have been so bad. He had deter- 
mined on his journey from Albany to follow his father 
blindly, but the conditions were all changed. He could 
not do so without betrayal of his friend and the sacrifice 
of Ella and himself. In whichever course he pursued 
there was dishonor. The question which forced itself 
was this, “Was his father’s honor involved ? ” He could 
not answer it, because his father had not trusted him far 
enough. From this torturing dilemma he took refuge in 
Molleson’s suggestion. He would do nothing, seem to 
acquiesce in his father’s plans, avoid Lysaght and Mol- 
leson, and then, if events made his union to Ines impos- 
sible, he would have nothing but guilty knowledge of the 
effort to shape these events to blame himself with. Of 


THE BANKER* S STRANGE MOVE. 159 

course this plan was not the manly one ; in fact it was 
craven, but what better course could be suggested ? 

Having reached this determination, he concluded to 
act in accordance with it without, delay. He would re- 
turn to Long Branch that very night. He was further 
moved to this by a desire to avoid his father as well, who 
did not know of his return to the city. 

' He awoke the next morning at the seaside rather with 
a feeling of exhilaration than otherwise, due to the fact 
that he had settled upon a plan, however craven it might 
be, which involved him in no responsibility. He felt as if 
a burden had been shifted from his shoulders. With a 
lighter heart than he had had since his conversation 
with his father, when the subject of his marriage was 
first broached, he gladly accepted an invitation to be 
one of a party to visit the races at Monmouth Park. 
Amid the life and excitement of a race day, he for the 
time forgot his vexations and perplexities. 

Cares and vexations have no place on a race course. 
They are laid aside at the entrance gate, with the ticket- 
seller who takes your money. Looking over the grand 
stand crowded with gaily dressed men and women, all 
quivering with anticipation and excitement, Ned, as he 
stood LI pon the lawn below, wondered if anybody of that gay 
throng was evervexed and troubled. All seemed so happy 
among the fluttering laces, waving ribbons, and the bright 
colors which transformed the stand into the appearance 
of a large bank of flowers, rising parterre upon parterre. 
No thought more weighty engrossed these happy people, 
apparently, than as to which of the hooded and blanketed 
horses dashing by in their “ warming-up canters ” carried 
their money. About him, jostling his elbows, were 
hundreds whose only considerations were the weights 
and jockeys their favorites were to carry, and the air was 


i6o 


VIVIER. 


filled with excited and enthusiastic predictions and 
opinions. 

He strolled with his friends in to the space devoted 
to those gentlemen who take a despondent view of horse 
racing in general, and offer to bet against all; and cer- 
tainly the bettors were not merchants intent on business 
ventures, statesmen, heavy with the care of nations, 
lawyers, taking the troubles of clients upon their shoul- 
ders, physicians anxious as to the progress of their 
patients toward recovery, editors borne down with the 
complexities of the world resting on their souls — no, 
nothing more concerned them than a laughing endeavor 
to exchange the money they shook in the faces of the 
men standing behind high desks shouting “ One to five 
on Hanover,” “ Fifty to one on the field,” for bits of 
cardboard, clerks of the shouting gentlemen handed 
down. 

No cares there ; and so, caught up and borne away 
by the spirit swaying all, Ned too, threw away the remain- 
ing vestige of perplexity and sought the quarter stretch, 
where the lithe and sleek aristocrats of the equine world 
were gathering in response to the first bell. On the other 
side, and opposite the grand stand, vehicles crowded 
close, stretching far down to the judges’ stand and away 
up opposite the paddock. 

Ned’s attention was attracted to a four-in-hand, some- 
what too elaborate and dashing, in which were seated 
two conspicuously dressed women, and about whose 
carriage a number of men were gathered. His friend 
at his elbow, perceiving that his attention was attracted 
to the group, asked: 

Do you know that woman with the dead white para- 
sol ? ” 

“ No,” replied Ned, “ Who is she ? ” 


THE BANKER'S STRANGE MOVE. l6l 

‘‘Rose Geranium; the one, you know, who was the 
cause of ‘Top’ Henning’s divorce.” 

Ned was familiar with the story of the scandal, and 
regarded with curiosity the woman who was the cause of 
it. As he looked, he saw her suddenly jump up in her 
carriage and with exaggerated gesture endeavor to attract 
the attention of some one near. What was his surprise 
when he saw that the person she was summoning in this 
free manner was Molleson, who, perceiving her, quickly 
made his way through the throng about the carriage to her. 

Could he have heard the conversation which ensued 
he would have been still more surprised, indeed quite as 
much astonish^ as was Molleson himself, over the com- 
munication. 

‘‘I’ve been looking for you,” she cried as he joined 
her. ‘‘I’ve something to tell you. Open the door and 
get in.” 

‘‘I do not dare,” he laughed, ‘‘Mrs. Molleson is in 
the grand stand with a pair of glasses, and if she were to 
discover me vis-a-vis with you in your carriage, I should 
be balder to-morrow morning than I am now.” 

The girl laughed merrily in reply, and said: 

“Then stand closer, so I can 'almost whisper to you. 
I had a visitor yesterday afternoon,” she continued as he 
moved up, “and about an affair, you cannot even guess 
what it was.; I won’t ask you to, for you never would. Do 
you recollect that supper we had many years ago in 
University Place — when I was young and good— -the sup- 
per the good Mr. Vivier gave us?” 

“Very well,” he replied promptly, while a wave of 
apprehension swept over him. 

“You know that just for sport Mr. Vivier and I went 
through the farce of a marriage ceremony?” 

“Yes” replied Molleson eagerly, fairly holding his 


i 62 


VIVIER. 


breath, for he saw a movement of Vivier was to be 
declared. 

“It was all about that. To think that it should come 
up so long after. I never saw Mr. Vivier from that day 
to this. You know his wife died — unexpectedly, that 
night just after he got home.” 

Molleson breathed easier as he caught at the last 
sentence. The truth was not known by Rose yet.- Vivier 
had not blown the affair and made a satisfactory composi- 
tion of the matter, leaving him out. It was a secret yet. 

“Who was your visitor?” he asked as composedly as 
he could. 

“Some young fellow — handsome enough — named 
Wheeler, he said, ’ ’ was her reply. 

Molleson recognized the name as that of Vivier’s con- 
fidential clerk. 

“What did he want to know?” 

“He didn’t want to know anything. That was the 
strangest part of it. He particularly did’ntwant to know 
anything, and warned me if I made any remarks to men- 
tion no names.” 

“What?” cried Molleson, puzzled. “I do not com- 
prehend you.” 

“I don’t wonder at it,” she replied. “It was the 
queerest thing that ever happened to me. He told me 
that he had come from his employer, Mr. James Vivier, and 
that there was a letter unsigned in the envelope he handed 
me, and when I had read it he handed me another envel- 
ope— There goes the flag,” she cried, breaking off sud- 
denly and leaping to her feet as a great shout went up, 
followed by cries, “They’re off,” 

There was a rush to the fence, and all eyes were bent 
upon the squad of flyers, as followed by a great crowd of 
dust, they thundered by the judges. 


THE BANKER’S STRANGE MOVE. 163 

Molleson knew the impossibility of continuing the con- 
versation with the girl while the doubtful chances of the 
race hung in the balance, and, as one of the horses car- 
ried a venture which if it won meant a large sum to him, 
he threaded his way among the vehicles to the outside, 
where with his glasses he tried to pick out his horse and 
calculate his chances, while at the same time he endeavored 
to penetrate the meaning of Vivier’s movement. But 
watching a close race when one of the horses carries so 
large a sum as to make it a matter of serious moment 
whether he is first or last, is not a time conducive to the 
working out of a puzzle. 

The horses swept around the circle, the one he favored 
not leading but so close that he was by no means beaten, 
until they passed a point beyond which, from his stand, he 
could follow them no longer. He worked his way back 
through the vehicles, and as he saw the impossibility of 
getting near enough to the fence to see the finish, he took 
up his station near the carriage of Rose Geranium, ready 
to renew the conversation. As the horses dashed down 
the homestretch, coming nearer and nearer, amid the 
excited shouts of the spectators he heard theories of 
“Vengeance wins!” “Vengeance wins!” He smiled, — 
it was his horse, and he was thousands better off in pocket. 

But it was not Rose Geranium’s horse, for with loud 
lamentations, she sank into her seat bemoaning her loss 
of money. Molleson realized that he could not get her 
back to the topic he so earnestly desired continued, and 
having a pretty accurate knowledge of human nature as 
expressed in womankind, he said : 

“This race was a bold venture, but I have won. On 
the next, however, I am on the inside. I’ve had the 
‘straight tip. ’ How much did you loose? Fifty? I’llmake 
double that for you if you will let me do your investing.” 


164 


VIVIER. 


He returned shortly, and handed her the ticket, 
saying : 

“These will put you even and as much ahead.” 

Greatly comforted, and her hopes again revived, the 
girl was willing to be led back to the subject. 

“About the letter? Oh yes! The young man said 
he did not know the contents of either and didn’t want 
to know, and would not under any circumstances read 
them. Did you ever hear of anybody who so persistently 
wanted to be a know nothing?” 

Molleson wondered, as he thought himself in duty 
bound, but he recogized the methods of the banker. 

“I can’t make it all out,” she continued. “I brought 
the papers here to show you, for I thought I’d see you' 
Read the letter first.” 

Of the two papers she handed him, Molleson opened 
the one she designated as the letter, and read eagerly: 

“Dear Miss Upshaw: 

For that is the name by which I have known you. 
You will perhaps recollect a supper we attended eleven 
years ago last January, in a University Place restaurant. 
You recollect we all got very merry with wine and engaged 
in a foolish ceremony of marriage. Sometimes our acts in 
times of pleasure stretch over and affect us in other rela- 
tions. I do not say that this did or now does. As a 
matter of fact, it does not. But, I am getting old, am 
retiring from business, and arranging for the succession 
of my son, I want to put everything into such shape as 
will permit of the raising of no questions. I have thought 
the way to security against foolish questionings or mali- 
cious trouble-makers was to ask you to sign the inclosed 
paper.” 

Molleson laughed gently, as he read the letter, recog- 
nizing the characteristics of the man in the writer. 

He unfolded the other and read : 


THE BANKER'S STRANGE MOVE. 


165 


JCo 

ccn.ZZ. ^ A^4k.rL. 

tAoZ cCo r^a e^ ^ O-C^ '>'■»'^-y^c.c-^^ 

* ♦ ’ 

iyv%.H2y^ yy%. CL^/'t^ 

J'lu. a,''i.</'t^ ^ ^ 

CccuaaUc^ c^ O'yz.tmZ^ /'^/'^j 

^.Aj£Lt/e o^e^ cAacu. 


CO^,ZA, 












‘‘The old chief is lavish of his paper, it seems to me, 
writing on every pther line,” said Molleson as he returned 
the papers to her. “I see you have signed it?” 

“Yes.” 

“And Wheeler witnessed it. I thought you said he 
did not want to know its contents.” 

“He did not read it. He simply wrote his name.” ^ 

“What will you do with it?” 

“Return it to the good Mr. Vivier. The young man 
will come for it this evening.” 

“Well, I do not sec why you should not,” said Mol- 


i66 


VIVIER. 


leson, more to himself than to the woman. “I do not see 
that it will be of much value to him.” 

“But isn’t the whole thing funny — I do not — ” 

A shout proclaimed that the horses were off for another 
race. Molleson, quite certain as to its results, walked 
away a short distance to think over the singular act of 
Vivier — puerile act, he was disposed to regard it. 

“What is the old fellow up to?” he asked himself 
aloud. “That paper is absolutely of no use to him. He 
must be feeling his way. He tries her with this paper to 
find two things: one, whether she knows of the hold she 
has on him, and the other, whether if she knows the true 
state of affairs she is disposed to take advantage of them. 

“Yes, yes. That must be the meaning. James Vivier 
is no man’s fool, and when he does what seems to be a fool- 
ish thing, all the more reason for diving deeply to find what 
he is up to. It isn’t foolish and weak, it is a skilful way 
at getting at Carrie’s mind and knowledge. Well, in 
signing it she is playing my game. Let her go on.” 

The race was over. He went back to the woman in 
the carriage, saying: 

“Let me have your tickets. I’ll get the money on them.” 

Returning quickly, he handed it to her, and then asked 
her to let him see the papers again. 

He scrutinzed the writing. 

“Yes” he muttered, “It is Vivier’s own writing.” 

While he was examining it, some men came up and 
engaged the girl in conversation. Stepping aside to make 
room for them, he stood with his back to the hind-wheel 
of the drag, and partially at the back of Rose. He drew 
a letter and pencil from his pocket and rapidly copied 
the certificate on the back of the envelope. It was brief, 
and his work was so quickly done that the girl did not 
observe it. 


THE BANKER'S STRANGE MOVE. 167 

■ He handed it back to her. 

“But what do you make of it?” she asked. 

“Not much. I presume it is just as he says. He is 
putting his affairs in shape, and, recollecting that night’s 
spree, is preparing himself against any malicious mischief 
maker,” Molleson laughed as he added, “me, perhaps, 
since I was present, from doing him harm.” 

“Pah! He’s a fool,” said the girl contemptuously. 
“I’ll send it back to him and his letter too.” 

“I wouldn’t do that,” said Molleson hastily, whose 
purposes would not be served by such a course. “Send 
the paper you have signed if you will, but keep that letter. 
It may serve you well some time. Such things are often 
good friends in time of trouble and need. T ake my advice. ’ ’ 

He lifted his hat, and as he turned away, he said : 

“Don’t bet on the next two. They belong to anybody 
and you would be sure to pick the losers.” 

He returned to where the bookmakers were holding 
forth. On his way he encountered Ned accompanied 
by his friends. 

He made no attempt to recognize him until Ned nod- 
ded, when he lifted his hat politely and passed on. 

“How do you happen to know that fellow, Ned?” 
asked one of his friends. 

“He was once a clerk in my father’s employ,” was 
the reply. 

“The deuce you say. He is one of the most persistent 
followers of the races and usually on the inside — all the 
^put up jobs,’ I guess. Call him back and see if we can 
get a tip from him.” 

Ned followed him up until close enough to call him. 
When he had attracted his attention, he said, 

“Mr. Molleson, my friend wants some advice as to 
investing on this race?” 


i68 


VIVIER. 


“He comes to a poor person, then,” replied Molleson 
courteously. “I can form no judgment for myself, and 
am therefore not betting.” 

“It is a straight race then,” said Ned’s friend. 

Molleson took the sarcasm, and coldly, but with much 
dignity, replied; 

“I should regard it as a good gambling race.” 

Turning to Ned, he said: 

“I made money on the two last. The owner of the 
last winner gave me the filly’s best time, and I knew if she 
could do that in a race, she was too fast for her company. 
I ventured heavily. I plunged a bit on the previous race, 
backing my own judgment because I had learned the 
favorite was off his feed a bit last night and this morning, 
and besides I thought well of the one I backed.” 

Ned’s friend, abashed by the way his sarcasm had been 
received, had fallen back while Molleson was talking to 
Ned, and this gave Ned an opportunity to hurriedly ask: 

‘‘Are there any new developments?” 

‘‘No,” answered Molleson. ‘‘There could be none in 
the nature of things. Let me suggest, however, that you 
restrain Mr. Lysaght a bit. He is too ardent.” 

“He is a lover,” laughed Ned. “But I have followed 
your advice. I am keeping out of the whole affair.” 

They parted, Ned rejoining his friends. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

HIDE AND SEEK. 

T he morning following the conference at Lysaght’s 
studio, and about ten o’clock, a young girl made 
her appearance before the janitor and inquired for Mr. 
Lysaght. 


HIDE AND SEEK. 


169 


The official informed her that Mr. Lysaght’s studio 
was upon the top floor, but that he was not in — not in 
town, as he happened to know. He had been down early 
that morning and received a letter which he had opened at 
once. Reading it, he had hastily asked the time, and on 
learning it rushed out, saying that he had just time to 
catch the train ; also that he would be back in a day or two. 

On coming down that morning Lysaght had received a 
letter from Ines, informing him of the attempt to force 
her into a marriage with a Mr. Vivier, whom she had only 
seen once. She implored him to save her from this 
danger, declaring that her life was made unbearable by 
Mrs. Humphrey’s urgency and commands; that despite 
her protests and entreaties, preparations were being hur- 
ried forward with all possible speed, and that, as the exact 
date of this proposed wedding was concealed from her, she 
was in hourly expectation of the arrival of the odious per- 
son. She pleaded pathetically, that she was quite alone 
and worn out with resistance; that if some one did not 
come to her help she would succumb through sheer weari- 
ness and inability to contend longer; that Lysaght was 
the only person she could turn to for relief and support. 

On the spur of the moment, and with no consideration 
other than to fly to the girl who held out her arms so 
imploringly to him, he darted off to catch the first train 
he could take. 

Thus it was that his visitor was disappointed in finding 
him. Disappointment is not the term to describe her 
apparent distress. She seemed so near swooning that the 
janitor brought her a chair. When she had sufficiently 
recovered she murmured, “I do not know what to do?” 

“Have you come far?” asked the janitor kindly, having 
noticed the evidences of travel upon her. 

“A long way,” she faintly replied. 


VIVIER, 


170 

“He’ll not be back for a day or two,” he said. “I'd 
go to some of my friends in the city.” 

“I have no friends here.” 

The janitor was puzzled. He did not know what 
advice to give her under such circumstances, and a pretty 
young girl, traveling a long distance, having no friends in 
the city and inquiring for a single man, became an object 
of suspicion to him. 

He was on the point of pursuing further inquiries, when 
Ella descended the stairs and spoke to him ; 

“Larry,” she asked, “do you know anything about Mr. 
Lysaght? I had an appointment for ten and his studio 
is not open.” 

“Yes’m. He’s gone out of town suddintly. Here’s a 
young lady inquirin’ for him.” 

The young lady, on hearing mention of Mr. Lysaght’s 
name, turned to look at the new-comer who had appoint- 
ments with her Mr. Lysaght. Ella, on the janitor’s 
reference to the young lady, turned to look, and when 
she did so, she uttered a cry of surprise. 

“You are Miss Alloway,” she cried. 

Ella was right. Ines opened her violet eyes in wide 
wonder. Who was this who knew her, and Mr. Lysaght 
too She was not alarmed, for there was nothing in the 
sweet face bending over her to excite fear; rather it 
wooed trust and confidence. 

“You are surprised I should know you,” said Ella, 
gaily, “but it is not surprising, when you know how I 
came to recognize you. It was by the pictures Mr. 
Lysaght has painted of you.” 

“Of me?” cried Ines, still more astonished. 

“Yes, of you,” repeated Ella, “and as I am a pupil of 
Mr. Lysaght, I’ve seen them so often I could not help 
knowing you. My name is Ella Newton.” 


HIDE AND SEEK. 171 

“Oh, when will Mr. Lysaght be back?”* asked Ines, 
tears gathering in her eyes. 

Ella appealed to the janitor, and was informed not for 
two days at least. 

“I do not know what to do,” cried Ines. “I know no 
one here. I do not know where to go.” 

“I know,” said Ella, warmly, “you will go with me 
until Mr. Lysaght returns. Come, give me your satchel 
and we’ll trot off together.” 

Obedient as a child, and as trustful, Ines followed. 

“Why did you not inform Mr. Lysaght you were com- 
ing?” asked Ella. “He surely would have been hete to 
meet you.” 

“I had not time,” replied Ines. “I have run away. 
They wanted me to marry a man I don’t know. So I 
ran away to Mr. Lysaght.” 

No little child fleeing from a threatened punishment 
could have told her grief more innocently. Ella inclined 
favorably to her from the first moment, felt her heart 
warm toward her. 

“I know all about it,” she cried. ‘T heard all about 
it quite by accident. They want you to marry Mr. 
Vivier.” 

“Why, you know everything,” exclaimed Ines, filled 
with wonder. 

“Not everything, but I do know that.” 

“Yes; that is the odious man’s name.” 

The adjective was a little more than Ella could hear 
and remain silent. ' 

“You are mistaken; Mr. Vivier is not odious.” 

“But he must be, or he would not weakly submit to his 
father’s command and be willing to marry a girl whether 
she wants him or not.” 

“You do not understand,” said Ella, demurely. “It 


172 


VIVIER. 


is quite a long story and I’ll tell it to you by-and-bye. 
There was really no cause for your alarm. The mar- 
riage you dread so much would never have taken place. 
Mr. Vivier would not have permitted it. He and Mr. 
Lysaght are like brothers. When he learned, which was 
only a day or two ago, that the one his father insisted he 
should marry was the one Mr. Lysaght loved and who 
loved Mr. Lysaght — was you, he nearly went crazy. I 
happened to be present. My heart ached for him, he felt 
so badly. You know his father is very determined. Mr. 
Lysaght is afraid that upon Mr. Vivier’ s refusal to do as 
his father wishes, he will be disinherited. Mr. Vivier 
thinks so, too. But that does not make any difference to 
him. Oh, no, he never hesitated,” continued Ella, 
enthusiastically, ‘‘he never hesitated. He said Mr. 
Lysaght should marry you, and he would pledge himself 
to that. Mr. Vivier is a gentleman — a very noble gen- 
tleman.” 

♦ Ines had not thought so. She naturally had conceived 
a great dislike for Ned, supposing him to be a mere 
puppet in his father’s hands, willing to accept obediently 
a bride he knew practically nothing of, and an unwilling 
bride at that.’ But perhaps as much by reason of the 
fact of their arrival at Ella’s house, as any other, she 
made no reply. 

Having been admitted, Ella led her straightway into 
the presence of her mother. 

“Mother dear,” cried Ella, warmly and delightedly. 
‘‘Who do you suppose this is? It is Miss Alloway, Mr. 
Lysaght’s Ines. Isn’t it wonderful.” 

Mrs. Newton laid her needlework down and advanced 
cordially to Ines and kissed her, though she was quite 
evidently astonished to see her. 

‘‘Only think, mother,” cried Ella, who was much 


HIDE AND SEEK. 


173 


excited; “She has only just come to the city. She'cameto 
see Mr. Lysaght, but he has gone away. And she didn’t 
know any one else in this big city. She wouldn’t have 
known what to do or where to go if I had not just come 
downstairs at the very right moment. I knew her at 
once, didn’t I, Ines dear, by the pictures, you know, 
Mr. Lysaght has painted of her. ^Jother dear, they are 
trying to force her into a marriage, only she doesn’t know 
there isn’t any real danger, but she didn’t, you know, 
because she couldn’t know how good a man Mr. Vivieris, 
and how he wouldn’t marry her under any circumstances, 
not because she isn’t nice, but because Mr. Lysaght wants 
to marry her. Oh, it’s all a muddle, but she couldn’t 
know, mother dear, from what they told her, and so she ran 
away to Mr. Lysaght, and I found her and brought her here. ’ ’ 

Ella ended out of breath, having thoroughly confused 
her mother. All further attempt to learn the facts was 
suspended for the time, however, by the attention Ines 
required. She had borne up bravely through all her 
troubles, but now, when she seemed to have entered a 
haven of rest and security, reaction set in, and from 
fatigue and nervous excitement, she fainted. Mrs. New- 
ton hastened to her, telling Ella to bring the salts quickly. 
When she recovered, Mrs. Newton said; 

“I am afraid you are very much fatigued.’’ 

“I did not sleep any on the cars last night,’’ replied 
Ines. “I drove into Albany after midnight, and sat up 
in the cars, afraid to sleep.’’ 

“Poor dear,” cried Ella, sympathetically, beside her, 
chafing her hands. 

‘‘Then this morning I got in the wrong car and was 
carried in the wrong direction for a long way, and did 
not find it out until the car stopped and I had to come 
all the way back again.’’ 


174 


VIVIER. 


“And have had no breakfast,” said Mrs. Newton. 

“No,” simply answered Ines. 

“Ella,” directed her mother, -“take her immediately 
to your room and put her to bed. She will be ill if we 
are not careful. I will see that some tea and toast is made 
at once. We will wait for her story until she is rested.” 

The two good creatures thereupon busied themselves 
in ministering to the comfort of the girl, who was, indeed, 
practically friendless, apart from Lysaght. 

When she had fallen asleep, Mrs. Newton called Ella 
into her own room and said : 

“I do not think you could have done other than you 
have, but I am afraid much trouble will grow out of this. 
You could not, of course, let her go anywhere else. We 
owe Mr. Lysaght and Mr. Vivier too much, even if we 
could have turned her away in this wicked city. But I 
think it is my duty to inform her friends she is here. ” 

“Oh, mother dear, don’t do that,” implored Ella. 
“See how unhappy the poor thing is. Wait until Mr. 
Lysaght returns.” 

“I cannot tell why, but I have a great foreboding of 
trouble. I am quite agitated about it. I must think it 
over. I wish I could see Mr. Vivier to consult him. I 
do not know where to find him. If I did I would go to him 
immediately. If Mr. Lysaght were here I could obtain 
his address.” 

“I think I can find his address,” said Ella, her face 
very red. In the most secret recess of her most secret 
place, lay sundry little notes from Ned, bearing his 
address, which the charming little girl treasured as her 
most precious possessions. 

“If you can, dear, I shall be very glad,” replied her 
mother, who was too much engrossed with her apprehen- 
sions to notice the embarrassment of her daughter. 


HIDE AND SEEK. 175 

Ella left the room, and speedily returned with Ned’s 
address written upon a slip of paper. 

“I will go at once,” said her mother, and preparing 
herself for the street, she set out to find Ned. 

At the hour Ines presented herself at his studio build- 
ing, Lysaght in response to her letter was speeding to 
Albany as fast as the limited could carry him, torn by 
conflicting emotions. When he was seated in the cars 
for his long ride, he began to think that he had been 
overhasty in setting out. He had violated his compact 
with Molleson in hurrying away without consulting him. 
Really, a journey which might result in the discovery of his 
presence in the neighborhood, might also result, as Ned 
had apprehended, in the double guarding of Ines; a let- 
ter would have served every purpose, for there was no 
immediate danger, so long as Ned was not informed of 
the date of the proposed wedding-day. Upon the other 
hand, Ines was in great fear and distress, had called 
upon him for help and so he justified his journey, promis- 
ing the utmost caution in his approach to his boarding 
place. 

On arriving at Albany he engaged a close carriage and 
instructed the driver to proceed as rapidly as possible to 
Blooming Grove, at which place he would give further 
instructions as to his destination. 

As he rode along he endeavored to formulate some 
course of action after his arrival at the farmer’s. He 
considered the advisability of taking the farmer into his 
confidence, but abandoned the idea as unwise, for the rea- 
son that he doubted whether the farmer could be brought 
to an understanding of the situation, and the fear that his 
natural sympathies would be with his neighbors, and not 
with Lysaght. 

He had arrived at no conclusion when he reached 


176 


VIVIER. 


Blooming Grove. As he leaned from the window of his 
coach to give further instructions to the driver, he saw 
standing in the door of the post-office of that place the 
boy Ben, who was curiously observing the unwonted 
sight of a closed carriage in that part of the country, 
especially on a hot, July day. Hastily stopping the coach 
he attracted the attention of the boy, who came to him 
wonderingly. 

“Why, she’s gone to look for you. Mister Lysaght,” 
he said, as soon as he approached closely enough not to 
be overheard. 

“Who has gone?” asked Lysaght, in trepidation, “Miss 
Alloway?’ ’ 

“Yes,” replied the boy, who hastily told how at lues’s 
request he had driven her to Albany in the night, secretly ; 
that she had taken an early train which would carry her 
to the city by seven in the morning; that, in fact, Ines 
had run away from her persecutors. 

“Heavens,” cried the artist, “she was in the city before 
I left it.” 

It, was some moments before he could fully realize the 
change in the conditions. But as the possibilities pre- 
sented themselves, he became nearly frantic with fear. 
Ines was totally unacquainted with the city. She was 
wholly unaccustomed to traveling, to going about, to the 
city and the dangers to be avoided. She was likely to 
be a prey to the first wolf she met. She would not know 
what to do, where to go? especially arriving so early 
in the morning. True, she had his address, but into 
what hands might she not fall? Nearly crazed with fear 
and apprehension he frantically bade the driver return 
to Albany at full speed — to run his horses all the way. 

The driver asked him if he wished to take the next 
train back to New York, and in answer to Lysaght’s 
reply in the affirmative, said; 


NARROWING THE LIMITS. 


177 


“I couldn’t get you there before three o’clock if ‘my 
pair was. a team of locomotives. The first train you can 
get is the 4:05, due in New York 7 :3o. There’s no use 
killing the horses.” 

With this the artist was forced to be content, and though 
the horses seemed to crawl, he was in ample time for 
the train. 

About the time he reached the station in Albany, Mrs. 
Newton returned form a fruitless endeavor to find Ned. 
He was watching the horses run at Monmouth Park. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

NARROWING THE LIMITS. 

I '^HE clock in the station at Forty-second Street pointed 
exactly to half-past seven as Lysaght stepped from 
the train, which had borne him so swiftly from Albany. 
He had been away from the city exactly ten hours and 
forty minutes, and in the mean time had ridden three 
hundred miles by rail and ten by carriage. Yet it seemed 
an eternity. Long before he was hurrying through the 
station he had determined upon his course of action on 
arrival. If all things had gone well with her she would 
seek him at his studio, but he had not been there to 
receive her. Where then had she gone? Into what hands 
had she fallen? He would immediately put the police 
in search for her, delaying not a moment. So from the sta- 
tion he hastened to police headquarters, and told his story. 

The officer to whom he applied, to his great indigna- 
tion, did not share in his alarm and excitement. Indeed, 
he was provokingly calm and deliberate. Lysaght mis- 
took familiar acquaintance with such tales for indifference 
and supineness. He failed to realize that if the officer had 


178 


VIVIER, 


been subject to the same excitement, he would have been 
far less fitted to the duties he was to undertake, than in 
the temper which so irritated the artist. This officer 
suggested that as Ines was not a child and had the artist’s 
address, she had proceeded there . forthwith, and before 
anything else were done, he proposed the artist should go 
there at once and inquire. Thither hastened Lysaght, 
blaming himself that he had not done so in the first instance, 
before he had applied to what, in his impatience, he 
termed an indifferent and incompetent police. 

The janitor was not at his post, but his assistant was. 
In answer to the artist’s hurried questions, the assistant 
replied that he had been on duty all day ; that no young 
lady answering Lysaght’s description had called on Mr. 
Lysaght; of this he was quite certain, for if there had he 
would have known it; he had seen Miss Newton go up, 
but no other lady. The assistant janitor had forgotten 
that he was away from the building half an hour in the 
morning on some business. During that short interval 
Ines had appeared and departed. 

This information further increased Lysaght’s alarm, 
although he was in a measure, through his apprehension, 
prepared for it. He hastened back to Headquarters. 
The official had some news to give him. A young lady, 
supposed to be the one Lysaght was searching, was among 
the passengers arriving On the seven o’clock train. She had 
inquired of the officer at the station for the Fourth 
Avenue car, and had taken one bound for up-town, for 
the officer had watched her. 

Now Lysaght’s worst fears were realized. A general 
alarm and a description of Ines was sent out. An officer 
was detailed to accompany the artist to the end of the 
route up-town, to make inquiries and to interview the 
conductors as they ended their trips, 


NARROIVIATG THE LIMITS. 


179 


Thus Lysaght spent the night, while she whom he 
sought rested comfortably under the kindly care of Mrs. 
Newton and Ella, shielded from all the evils the artist’s 
excited and morbid imagination conjured. 

Notwithstanding the attractions the turf possessed for 
Molleson, and notwithstanding the races were to go on 
the following Monday, and that the intervening Sunday 
was a most excellent day for the gathering of information, 
Molleson felt that he could not remain away so long from 
the city. So on Saturday evening, leaving Mrs. Molleson 
to enjoy a quiet Sunday atqhe seaside, he returned to New 
York. The same train that carried him also conveyed 
Ned, who had received an imperative summons from 
his father. 

Molleson went straight to Hagan’s for his letters, where 
he found one from Mrs. Crewe; another, to his alarm 
and bewilderment, from Mr. Vivier, and a report from his 
lawyer as to what had been done during his absence. 

Mr. Viver’s note was a curt request that he should 
see him Monday morning at ten. 

The lawyer’s report was interesting and important. 
A man had been found who had met the inventor at half- . 
past ten o’clock in Pine Street, near Broadway, to whom 
the inventor had told the tale of the sale of his inventions. 
He had been particularly observant of the time, for the 
reason that after leaving the inventor and turning the 
corner he saw by the Trinity Church clock that it was 
a quarter of eleven, or fifteen minutes after the time of 
an appointment he had with the agent of a steamship com- 
pany, and had thereby lost a sale of coal.' At the time he 
talked with the inventor, Lysaght carried a tin box which 
he said contained the proceeds of the sale. 

Another person had been found, a clerk of the Empire 


i8o 


VIVIER. 


Mining Supplies Company, who had talked with Lysaght 
within five minutes after eleven in the doorway leading to 
Mr. MacDiarmid’s office in Nassau Street. The clerk had 
been sent by Mr. Devol to waylay a gentleman who was 
known to visit that building every day at eleven, whom Mr. 
Devol was very anxious to see before his departure for 
the Pacific coast. The clerk was standing there when 
Mr. Lysaght entered, and they fell into a chat about the 
large investment made by the company. While there the 
inventor had been attacked by a faintness amounting to 
unconsciousness. This was what had impressed the inci- 
dent on the mind of the clerk, for he had often said since, 
that that attack was the precursor of the end, occurring 
only a few hours later. He was certain the inventor had 
no tin box with him then, because the picture of Lysaght 
with both hands in his pockets, jingling coin, as he came 
up the step, was photographed upon his memory for all 
time. 

The lawyer therefore concluded that the inventor had 
made his deposit at some time between fifteen minutes 
of eleven and eleven o’clock, the time, therefore, .being 
narrowed to fifteen minutes. The lawyer then proceeded 
to reason. Mr. Lysaght-had stood at fifteen minutes of 
eleven o’clock nearly opposite No. 3 Pine Street; at 
eleven o’clock or very shortly thereafter, he had entered 
a building in Nassau Street, very near Liberty Street, 
Some time must have necessarily been taken up in mak- 
ing the deposit, and, therefore, little of the fifteen or 
twenty minutes could have been left, and in all proba- 
bility all of it was exhausted in going to. Nassau Street 
near Liberty. Evidently, without further stoppages, he 
must have gone straight to the Nassau Street building. 
Hence, it followed that the deposit must have been made 
pn Pine Street, between Broadway and Nassau Street. It 


NARROPV/ArG THE LIMITS. I»l 

was quite evident to the lawyer’s mind that Mr. Lysaght 
had never left Pine Street from the time he entered it in 
a cab and dismissed Burke, until after he had made the 
deposit. He concluded his report by asking Molleson 
whether he had any suggestions to make as to the continu- 
ance of the search, and said that he had obtained a 
directory of 1871, and was having a list of all those doing 
business in that street on that block in that year, made, 
with a view to the prosecution of direct inquiries. 

Molleson agreed with this reasoning, and his hopes as 
to ultimate and speedy success rose within him. His 
uneasiness as to the banker’s summons was tempered by 
the elation he experienced over the substantial progress 
the lawyer had made. 

Mrs. Crewe’s letter was one calling him to an interview, 
and to a place that caused Molleson hearty laughter. In 
her role as a pious and charitable leader,Mrs. Crewe was the 
patroness of a mission school which she occasionally visited 
on Sunday morning. Half-past nine o’clock the next 
morning found him at the place designated. Entering, 
he obtained a seat near the door and waited patiently for 
Mrs. Crewe, who, sitting near the teacher’s desk, he was 
certain had observed his entrance, to make some sign. 
When the exercises were partly over, Mrs. Crewe walked 
down the aisle deliberately, talking with several of the 
teachers on her way, until she reached Molleson. 
Addressing him courteously, she said : 

“We can converse here without exciting attention. I 
have not been able to bring you the information I hoped 
to. I was mistaken, I do not possess it. But there is 
one point about the matter I gave you a few days ago, 
which I did not reveal. You did not ask me for it. I 
have thought since that perhaps it was important for you 
to know, and was worth the exchange I suggested,’’ 


i 82 


VIVIER, 


“You mean the person Avho has borne the expense of 
caring for Lysaght’s daughter? “ 

“Yes.” 

“I know it. It was Vivier.” 

Mrs. Crewe cast upon him a look of astonishment and 
deep disappointment. 

Molleson smiled. 

“It is a bitter disappouitment I see, Leila,” he said. 
“I discovered it by accident. The man employing me to 
find his cousin had already found her without knowing 
who she was, and is in love with her — wants to marry her. 
About the time he found out who she was, or a little 
before, he also found that Vivier was endeavoring to 
force a marriage between his son and the girl.” 

“Vivier desires to force a marriage between his son and 
Lysaght’s daughter?” exclaimed the lady, astonished. 
“Why?” 

“Heaven knows, I don’t.” 

“Some reason exists.” 

“Doubtless.” 

“Vivier is a man of purposes, not caprices,” she. said. 

Molleson started, as if a new idea had occurred to him. 

“Neither sentimental consideration, nor mere desire 
to carry out a plan formed in no reason, moves him,” con- 
tinued Mrs. Crewe. “He is not that kind of a man. Is 
he strenuous as to that marriage?” 

“So much so that young Vivier fears disinheritance as 
a consequence of refusal.” 

“So.” The lady was silent for a brief time. “It 
seems to me it would be worth while finding out what is 
the reason.” 

“Doubtless. But Vivier is not a man to take the world 
into his confidence. You remember his old maxim for suc- 
cess, ‘Tell nobody what you are about to do, but do it.’ ” 


N-ARROW/NG THE LIMITS. 


133 


“Is the son willing to do his part?” 

“By no means; but fears to disobey.” 

“Does he not know — has not his father given hirn the 
reason?” 

“No — that is, I don’t know. By George! I’ll have 
to find out. You have given me new ideas.” 

“Worth that paper?” 

Molleson laughed. , 

“I don’t know. Really, I have no desire to hold it as 
against you, Leila. But the fact is, I have locked horns 
with Vivier, and I am afraid to give up anything which 
may possibly serve as a weapon against him. I am 
afraid of him, I frankly confess it.” 

A quick expression of alarm swept over Mrs. Crewe’s 
face. Molleson noted it and wondered. 

“That shows to me how necessary it is that I should 
possess it,” she said. “I may be ruined in your contest 
with Vivier.” 

“You are candid, to say the least,” returned Molleson. 

The lady was too absorbed to reply. Finally, she 
looked up. 

“You are in a contest with Vivier?” she asked. 

“Yes — a bitter one — a fight to the death. Either he 
or myself must go under in it.” 

“So bad as that?” 

“Yes. One or the other must win, and if I lose there 
will be no mercy for me.” 

“Not from him, no. I’ll make you an offer,” she said, 
earnestly. “ At a certain period of my life — not necessary 
to mention — I kept a diary. Every night I wrote my recol- 
lections of the day. There are many conversations and 
statements of Vivier written there. It is possible there are 
points of value to you there. If I put you in a way to 
examine it will you give up that paper?” 


184 


VIVlEJ^, 


“Am I to have the diary in my possession?” 

“I cannot promise you that. It is now with my valu- 
ables in the safety deposit vault. I will go with you at 
any time you may choose, not once, but as often as you 
desire*to read it.” 

Molleson pondered. He thought he saw large possi- 
bilities in it. He said to himself, “Vivier was always a 
fool among women, and ten chances to one he has blab- 
bed something of value to me. It is a gamble, anyhow.” 

“Yes,” he said, after his consideration. “I will. I 
will let you know as to the first reading. Perhaps it will 
be to-morrow. I cannot tell precisely until after I have 
had an interview with him, to which he has called me.” 

With this understanding they parted. 


CHAPTER XXIH. 

MRS. NEWTON TO THE RESCUE. 

F ate has her mischievous moods. Why should Ella 
have so determinedly relied upon the information 
that Lysaght would not return for two days? Why had 
Lysaght neglected to go to his studio once, as was his 
invariable custom, on the Sunday following his return 
from his hasty trip to Albany ? Had either Ella or Lysaght 
gone to the studio on that Sunday, the truth, Fate was so 
mischievously hiding, would have been out, and Lysaght 
saved many an anxious moment. The artist had aban- 
doned the detective on Sunday morning early, for the 
reason that the methodical way in which the professional 
pursued the search, seemed slow and productive of no 
results to the almost frenzied artist. With more zeal than 
judgment, Lysaght had flown about the city, entering 
all places probable and improbable that occurred to him, 


M/^S. NE WTON TO THE RESCUE. 185 

observing no rule and often not even common sense, but 
gratifying his sense of unrest by constant motion. Once 
during the morning he had telegraphed to Ned, imploring 
him to return to the city to aid him in his search. 

Ned, however, was already in the city. He had arrived 
at a late hour the night previous and had gone to the club 
to see his father, who, however, was out, not expecting 
him until the following day. Learning this, Ned went to 
his own apartments, where he was informed that Mrs. 
Newton had called upon him during the morning, and 
seemed much disappointed to learn that he was out of 
town. It was too late to think of calling upon her that 
night, and so, filled with vague apprehensions of harm to 
Ella, he determined to visit Mrs. Newton as soon as 
released by his father. 

In the morning he went to the club about ten o’clock, 
which he knew was his father’s usual breakfast hour on 
Sunday, to find that he had gone out to remain all day, 
having left word that he desired to see his son in the late 
afternoon or evening. 

Therefore, the time being his own, Ned turned his 
steps in the direction of Ella’s home. On his way thither 
he stopped in at the studio building, to learn that Lysaght 
had not been there for two days, and was probably out of 
town. 

He was welcomed at the door by Ella with many smiles 
and blushes. 

“Mother will be glad you have come,’’ she said. “She 
has been very anxious to see you.’’ 

She had barely time to say this, when Mrs. Newton 
entered. 

Having expressed her satisfaction over his coming, Mrs. 
Newton asked Ella to leave her alone with Mr. Vivier, as 
she had something important to communicate. 


VIVIER. 


1 86 

“lam very much troubled and in want of advice,” she 
said. “And Ella opposes me so much in what seems to 
me my duty, that I did not want her present while I ask 
your advice.” 

Through politeness alone, Ned refrained from saying 
that he would have preferred Ella’s presence. 

“Ines Alloway is here,” continued Mrs. Newton, 
“and—” 

“Who?” exclaimed Ned, interrupting. “Ines Allo- 
way in this house?” 

“Yes. I do not wonder at your astonishment. She 
came here yesterday morning. Or rather she came to 
Mr. Lysaght’s studio yesterday morning, and was met 
by Ella, who brought her here. Mr. Lysaght is out of 
town. She has run away.” 

“Run away,” echoed Ned, completely mystified. 

“Yes. I think, indeed, I know, that woman who has 
charge of her has been persecuting her about the marriage 
your father is determined to force.” 

‘ ‘Ah, and she ran away to Lysaght. Does he know of it?” 

“No, he had gone out of town before she arrived. She 
had not informed him of her coming — had acted upon a 
sudden impulse. I was anxious to see you before he came 
back.” 

“This complicates matters, I am afraid,” replied Ned. 

“Sol feared. And it seemed to me my duty to inform 
Mrs. Humphrey of her whereabouts, for naturally they 
must be greatly alarmed. Besides, no matter what course 
they are pursuing, she was not right in running away. 
They are her guardians.” 

“I presume you are right,” said Ned, “as you view it. 
But — ” and he paused a long time as he collected his 
thoughts, “there is a phase of this that I do not think you 
are acquainted with. As a matter of fact, Lysaght is the 


MRS. NEWTON TO THE RESCUE. 187 

natural guardian of Ines — that is to say, of the one known 
as Ines Alloway.” 

Mrs. Newton regarded him as if she did not comprehend 
his meaning. 

“You see,” Ned went on to say. “Ines is a cousin of 
Lysaght, though she does not know it.” 

“A cousin? Why, he told me once that he had no 
relatives, save his mother.” 

“And he doubtless told you the truth at the time. 
About three weeks ago, or perhaps longer, he learned for 
the first time that he had a cousin who had disappeared.” 

What was the matter with Mrs. Newton that she so 
suddenly lost color and stretched forward in her chair to 
catch every word. 

“He employed a man to find trace of that cousin. In 
the meantime he met Ines and fell in love with her. 
Three or four days ago he found that his cousin was the 
girl he loved — Ines — the one my father wants me to 
marry — yes, his cousin. She is the daughter of his uncle, 
Stanley Lysaght, an inventor.” 

‘ ‘Merciful Heavens ! ” cried Mrs. Newton, falling back 
in her chair. “Of Stanley Lysaght, an inventor.” 

She was pale, limp, nearly fainting. Ned, astonished 
at the effect of his communications, went to her hastily. 

‘ ‘You are ill, dear Mrs. Newton. Let me call some one.” 

“No,” she cried, struggling to her feet, “call no one — 
no one at all — only let me think, let me think. Stanley 
Lysaght’s daughter — then she is — oh, let me think, let 
me compose myself. Heaven, what does it mean?” 

She walked up and down the room wringing her hands, 
repeating her words. 

Ned watched her, unable to comprehend the cause of 
her agitation, and when he essayed to speak she asked 
him to wait until she could control herself. 


VI VIE R. 


1 88 

It was a long time before she was sufficiently composed 
to resume her seat. When she did, the traces of her 
agitation and the struggle with herself she had undergone 
were plainly visible. She was trembling pitifully when 
she sat down before him, utterly unnerved. 

“Let me get you a glass of wine,'’ pleaded Ned. “Your 
nerves are unstrung. ” 

“No,” she protested, “I will be calm in a moment. 
Give me a little time. 'Your revelation is a great shock. 
To think of it, that she should have come to my — my 
house, brought here by Ella — Ella. The ways of Provi- 
dence are strange. ” 

Ned could say nothing to assist her, so he waited 
patiently and as unobtrusively as he could. 

At length she said: 

“Mr. Vivier, I must ask you several questions. I 
know you arid Mr. Lysaght are in great trouble — in a 
trouble in which Ines is involved. I do not quite under- 
stand it all. Wont you explain it to me? I do not ask 
from idle curiosity” 

Ned, thus requested, explained the situation to her 
without reserve — his unwillingness to betray his friend by 
acceding to his father’s wishes, his loathing of the marriage 
his father desired to force him into, the fear that danger 
threatened his father if he did not, and the fear of a 
quarrel with him if he refused, and consequent disin- 
heritance. 

At his conclusion, Mrs. Newton leaped to her feet, cry- 
ing excitedly: 

“The marriage must not take place! It cannot. It 
shall not! Oh, what a shame — shame — shame!” 

She resumed her seat, making a visible effort to con- 
trol herself. 

“But,” continued Ned, “the matter has taken a new 


MRS. NEWTON TO THE RESCUE. 189 

shape since the discovery that Ines is Stanley’s cousin. 
Molleson has suggested — ” 

“Molleson,” queried Mrs. Newton; “who is he?” 

“The man Lysaght employed to hunt up his cousin. 
A mysterious character. A gambler, a sharper, one who 
lives by his wits, one who has the address and the educ- 
ation of a gentleman. I say, he suggested, that as Ines 
was his cousin, Stanley should assume a guardianship of 
Ines as next of kin, and forbid this marriage between Ines 
and myself, and by that means remove me from my per- 
plexing situation without necessitating my refusal and 
consequent quarrel with my father.” 

“Ah, that is a wise man,” said Mrs. Newton, with 
evident relief. “Why is your father so anxious for you 
to marry Ines?” 

“He is more than anxious — he commands it. Why, I 
do not know. He has never said more to me than that 
by it he will avert a threatened danger to himself and in- 
directly to me.” 

“You do not then wish to marry her?” 

“Me — to marry. No!” cried Ned, most earnestly. 
“ Under no circumstances would I marry her. On that 
I am determined, even if it does result in my disinheri- 
tance.” 

Mrs. Newton nodded her head approvingly, and said 
that the plan suggested by Mr. Molleson seemed to be wise. 

“But I have not told you all,” said Ned. “Molleson 
has pointed out that my father is not likely to yield on 
Lysaght’s mere assertion that Ines is his cousin, and will 
doubtless refuse to yield up his guardianship, whereupon 
Lysaght would have to resort to legal proceedings with all 
their consequent delay, during which time my father would 
take the opportunity to force this marriage, and I would 
be compelled to take the ground of refusal.” 


196 


l^iVIER. 


“Ah,” said Mrs. Newton, “that ought to be avoided.’* 

“And,” continued Ned, “Molleson says that he does 
not want to see it taken to the courts, for then Lysaght 
would have to produce the proofs of his kinship, and that 
would involve the bringing in of the name of a woman and 
the disruption of family relationship as a consequence, 
and — ” 

“Oh, that musn’t be done,” cried Mrs. Newton in 
great alarm again. “That musn’t be done.” 

“So, he proposes that Ned and Ines shall elope and 
marry secretly, and then being married, and my marriage 
being made impossible in my father’s eyes, he will yield 
the point of guardianship without contest.” 

“Oh, no, no!” cried Mrs. Newton, “that musn’t be 
done. Under no circumstances — neither plan will do. 
Either would be dangerous — would work great harm and 
wrong. Promise me that neither shall be done.” 

Ned again, astonished at her agitation, and not know- 
ing what reply to make, said nothing. 

Mrs. Newton clasped her head in her hands and leaned 
back in her chair silent. By and by the tears - began 
to trickle down her face. Ned, mystified and bewil- 
dered, waited for her to speak again. 

At last, seemingly relieved by the tears she had shed, 
she said; 

“No, neither of these plans must be followed. There 
will be trouble — trouble — disgrace — disgrace. No, I must 
interfere. Mr. Vivier, I will interfere. I owe it to you. 
You did me recently such service as I can only repay by 
life long gratitude and devotion to your interest. I can- 
not tell you all that is passing in my mind, for in doing 
so I would expose the life of a person I am in duty bound 
to protect. I could tell you a very strange tale, occurring 
many years ago, the consequences of which, at this day. 


MRS. NEWTON TO THE RESCUE. 19I 

are stretching out and surrounding you and others. From 
these consequences and those which you dread I can save 
you, perhaps at some risk to myself. You must not pro- 
test,” she hastily added, perceiving Ned to make a gesture 
of dissent, ‘ ‘or object. Interference with me on your part, 
would only drive me to doing it in another way than the 
one I have conceived, at greater danger to myself and 
others, while you would be still in the same danger of 
quarreling with your father. You must put your trust in 
me. All I desire you to do is to do nothing. Seemingly 
acquiesce in all of your father’s plans. Make no objection. 
If your father sets a day for the marriage, agree to it. 
Only let me know the day and hour. Do not fail in this, 
and put implicit trust in me. No mother could do more for 
her own son than I will for you. Even if you do not hear 
from me on the very morning of the day set by your father 
for the wedding, go on with the preparations as if it were 
really to occur. It will not. Everything will come out 
right as to that. You will be saved, and you will not 
quarrel with your father.” 

Her earnestness convinced Ned, mystified though he 
was, that she could do all she promised, and he gave the 
assurances she desired. 

“I am convinced,” he added,* ‘you will do all you say 
you will. I feel already that a load has been taken from 
my shoulders — a weight from my mind. For the first 
time in weeks I feel like a free man. But yet there is 
still a grief I cannot dispose of, and that is the danger, 
confronting my father, which was to be averted by my 
marriage to Ines.” ' 

‘‘Believe me,” replied Mrs. Newton, most impressively, 
“that this danger, whatever it is, and I have not the 
slightest conception what it may be, cannot be averted by 
your marriage with Ines. I know that. How I know it, or 


192 


VIVIER. 


why, you must not ask. And I know that no matter 
what may occur or what the consequences may be to 
your father, or to you, or to any one else, your marriage 
to Ines must be prevented. And it will be. It is a duty 
I owe to you, to your father, to God.” 

This was said so solemnly that the last vestige of resist- 
ance on Ned's part was swept aside. He did not reply; 
for some time he sat twirling his hat in his fingers, Mrs. 
Newton busy with her own thoughts. At last he said, 
with much hesitation : 

“Mrs. Newton, since matters have taken the turn they 
have, and you have given me the assurances that I may 
act as a free man, that I am, in fact, now disentangled by 
your aid from the network of mystery and intrigue by 
which I have been enveloped, I am in a position to give 
expression to the dearest hope of my life. When my 
prospects were looking so dark and forbidding, I did not 
dare nurture it. I endeavored to repress it as much per- 
haps for her sake as my own. But now light has broken 
through the mists and I may speak. Just when I began 
to love Ella I don’t know, but I do.” 

Mrs. Newton straightened up, while a variety of expres- 
sions chased each other over her face, not one of which 
Ned could fix, and none of which seemed to forbid him 
to speak on. 

‘T do love her earnestly and sincerely, and I desire 
your permission to say so to her.” 

Mrs. Newton was silent for a moment or two, and then 
asked: 

“Do you think it wise from your standpoint?” 

“I do not understand you.” 

“You are a young man of fashion and the world. Ella 
has been brought up simply, and I might say outside of 
the world, certainly of yours. Do you think she is fitted 


MRS. NEWTON TO THE RESCUE. 


193 


to take a place in the great one of which you are a 
part?” 

“Better fitted,” exclaimed Ned, enthusiastically, “with 
her gentleness and natural refinement and tact, than nine- 
tenths of those who were born into it. Do not let such 
an idea stand in the way of my happiness.” 

“Is it wise, just at this time?” persisted Mrs. Newton. 

“As well this time as any other,” urged Ned. “If 
you succeed, the way is easy. If you fail — ” 

Mrs. Newton shook her head as she interrupted, “I 
cannot fail except through sudden death.” 

“Well, then, no reason exists.” 

“Except doubt thrown on my motive in interfering.” 

“It need not be a part of or known to these proceedings. 
Afterwards people may think what they may think.” 

Mrs. Newton pondered. 

At length she said : 

“I feared some time ago Ella was growing fond of you, 
and I grieved over it, fearing a great disappointment 
in store for her. " However, I will not protest. You have 
my consent.” 

“Then send her to me,” said Ned, eagerly. 

Mrs. Newton, smiling over the lover’s eagerness, went 
out to call Ella. Unaware as to what was to occur, but 
nevertheless carrying deep roses on her cheeks, Ella entered. 

Ned advanced — but why tell it. Those of us who have 
passed through that sweetest and most tender episode of 
our lives, when our hopes and loves were gratified, will 
find any description inadequate; and those of us who have 
yet to experience it, shall not have the edge taken off the 
most tender joy we are yet to experience, by bungling 
efforts of this pen. 

Though it was quite early in the morning when Ned 
had gone to Mrs. Newton, it was late in the afternoon when 
he left the house and hastened to his father at the club. 


194 


VIVIER, 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


SETTING THE WEDDING-DAY, 


"HEN Ned reached the club, he found his father 



vv awaiting him, and as he presented himself, his 
father arose from his chair and said, 

“Come with me to my room. I want some serious talk 
with you.” 

The manner of the banker was so stern that Ned felt 
certain that some new complication had arisen — perhaps 
that his father had heard of the conferences at Lysaght’s 
studio, or the new development — of the fact that Ines was 
Lysaght’s cousin. A little anxious, yet placing firm reli- 
ance upon Mrs. Newton’s assurances, he followed the 
banker, silently. 

Reaching his door he threw it open and held it for Ned 
to enter. Motioning him to a seat he took his position 
in the middle of the floor, and looked at Ned gloomily 
for a moment or two. Then he said abruptly : 

“You must marry on Thursday.” 

Ned had been prepared for this announcement any day 
since his return from Albany, — indeed, was prepared, as 
he thought, after his experiences, for anything or any 
announcement; but coming as abruptly as it did, he 
could not repress a gesture of surprise and dissent. 

Evidently the banker was in no mood to be trifled 
with, for he asked, angrily : 

“Am I to have some nonsensical opposition? I have 
done my part in this matter. You must do yours also.” 

He waited for an answer. Ned diplomatized. 

“It is perhaps only natural that I should shrink from 
the announcement,” he said. ‘‘A man with an aching 
tooth, even when he has fully determined to submit to an 
operation, nevertheless flinches as he faces the dentist. I 


SETTING THE WEDDING-DAY. 


195 


am not an eager lover, sighing for the arms of my bride. 
I naturally regret the disolving view of bachelor joys, as 
marriage rises before me. But, after my last talk with 
you on the boat, I saw my duty and determined to do it.” 

His father was content with the answer. 

“I should have been glad,” said his father, “to have 
given you the longer lease of your bachelorhood you 
asked, but as events have been and are occurring, your 
marriage grows hourly more necessary. It is a risk to 
wait until next Thursday, but I take it as I have taken 
other risks in my life.” 

“Where is the ceremony to take place ?” asked Ned, 
with all the composure he could force. 

“Here — in New York. I presume you do not want 
a splurge — in view of its suddenness.” 

“Heaven forbid,”cried Ned, sincerely and hastily. 

A grim smile stole over his father’s face. 

“I have not arranged all the details. In expectance 
of its occurrence in the near future, I have had the old 
house put into some sort of shape. I have sent word to- 
day to Mrs. Humphrey to bring Ines down at once. They 
will occupy the old house until the wedding. Then you 
can travel where and as long as you please. During 
your absence, I will have the house refitted and refur- 
nished for you to occupy. The hour of the wedding will 
be one o’clock in the afternoon — I set that hour to 
accommodate myself. Only a few will be present.” 

“I presume I'shall have the privilege of asking a few 
friends?” 

“Of course. Will Mr. Stanley Lysaght be one?” 

Ned thought he noticed a peculiar tone in his father’s 
voice as this question was asked. 

“Naturally, We have been bosom friends from boy- 
hood.” 


196 


VIVIER, 


The banker made no reply to this, but went on to say: 

“Ned, I begin to think you are a chip of the old block. 
You have given me a good deal of satisfaction by the way 
you have met this matter. I rather expected to have a 
tussle with you. I am thankful you did not put your- 
self in a position of opposition. I have had so much to 
contend against the past few weeks that a little acquies- 
cence in my plans on the part . of others, is especially 
grateful. Now one word more. There is unlimited 
credit for you at the bank. Draw your checks for any- 
thing you want and they will be honored. One year from 
now ril wager you will come to me and say that you 
owe to me not only life, but the possession of a charm- 
ing wife.” 

“I have not the slightest doubt, father, that one year 
from now I will acknowledge to you that I have a charm- 
ing bride.” 

The old man turned a keen glance upon his son. There 
was an under-meaning in the words he did not penetrate. 

Ned bore the glance well, neither changing color nor 
expression. 

“This business being over, let us go downstairs,” said 
his father. 

As they reached the lower floor, an attendant presented 
Ned with the card of a visitor. It was Lysaght’s. He 
had been notified that his telegram of the morning had 
been undelivered, the gentleman having returned to the 
city. He therefore sought Ned at the club. 

“Where is the gentleman?” asked Ned. 

Being informed that he was in the visitors’ room, Ned 
bade his father good-night and hurried to Lysaght. 

He was shocked when he saw his friend. Lysaght’s 
clothes were disordered, his face haggard with deep lines, 
his eyes sunken and bloodshot, his figure betokening 


SETTING THE WEDDING-DAY. 197 

weariness and exhaustion. Ned’s first wild idea was that 
Lysaght had been drinking heavily. 

“For Heaven’s sake, Stan,’’ he cried, “what is the 
matter?’’ 

“I have not found her yet.’’ 

“Found who? What do you mean?’’ 

His second wild thought was that Lysaght was out of 
his mind. 

“I have searched two whole days for her, and can get 
no trace of her’’ said Lysaght sadly. 

It was unpardonably stupid of Ned that he did not 
comprehend, but his interview with his father and his^ 
previous one with Ella had driven all else from his mind. 

It was not until Lysaght began his story and had got- 
ten far enough in to tell of his return to the city, that 
Ned, comprehending everything in a^ash, cried: 

“Heaven’s, man, she is found! She is safe. No harm 
has come to her at all.’’ 

These first words of comfort that had reached him in 
two days, and conveying the assurance of the safety of 
Ines, overcame him. 

“Safe!’’ he cried as he started from his seat. “No 
harm.’’ 

The revulsion was too great. He fell back limp and 
unconscious. Ned made a loud outcry. Two assistants 
and several members came at his call. 

“Water, ’’ said Ned. “Quick. He has fainted.” 

“Brandy is better,” said a member. “Bring it quick. 
Heavens, it is your friend Lysaght.” 

“Yes,” said Ned, chaffing the hands of the artist. 
“He has been under a tremendous strain for two days — 
in great fear and agony, without sleep. I foolishly gave 
him the assurances his troubles were over too abruptly, 
and he keeled over — he was so weak.” 


198 


VIVIER. 


The restoratives applied, Lysaght recovered conscious- 
ness, and as he did so he murmured: 

“Where is she?” 

“Safe old man, with Ella, where she has been since she 
reached town. Don’t say anything more. Ask no ques- 
tions for the present. ” 

Regaining sufficient strength to sit erect, he said after 
a moment, as He staggered to his feet: 

“I must go to her.” 

“Not yet awhile,” said Ned. “I have something to 
say to you before you see her. Now rest content. She 
is safe, properly cared for, in good hands, no harm of any 
description has come to her, and she is patiently and con- 
tentedy awaiting your return to the city. Now be content 
with this statement for a while. I’ll call a cab and we 
will go to your apartments, where you can bathe and refresh 
yourself. I want you to be guided by me,f or awhile at least. ’ ’ 

Lysaght protested, but Ned was urgent. 

“Stan,” he said, most earnestly, even sternly, “if you 
do not listen to me you will regret it. You will do me 
great harm. This is very necessary.” 

Lysaght’s attention was arrested by Ned’s earnestness, 
and he yielded. 

Lysaght’s apartments, not being far distant, were soon 
reached. When refreshed by his bath and sufficiently 
composed, Ned related to him the fact of Ella’s meeting 
with Ines and her recognition by means of the pictures 
he, Lysaght, had painted of her, and the charge she had 
taken of Ines. 

“Bless her sweet heart,” cried the artist, enthusiastically. 

“Amen to that,” said Ned, not less earnestly. 

Having satisfied all of Lysaght’s desires for informa- 
tion, he .recited fully his interview with Mrs. Newton, 
Lysaght was greatly impressed. 


SETTING THE WEDDING-DAY. 199 

“What can it mean?” he asked when Ned had finished. 

“I don’t know. I have tried to reason it out,” replied 
Ned. “But I cannot see through it all. I have guessed, 
speculated, imagined, but all to no purpose. I realize 
but one thing, and that is, that she can straighten out 
this horrible muddle without a break occurring between 
my father and myself. I tell you, Stan, it may be cowar- 
dice, but the possibility, no, the certainty of this break 
has given me far more distress than I have been willing 
to admit to you. Even now, I feel anxious about it. 
But yet there is that danger father speaks of. What may 
be joy and gladness to you and I, may be disaster to him. ’ ’ 
This unpremeditated speech of Ned did more to 
render Lysaght placable than anything Ned had yet said 
or urged. He was preparing in his mind arguments for 
resistance to the plan proposed by Mrs. Newton. Ines 
was within his reach. Providence seemed to have inter- 
posed in his behalf, and having Ines, he did not want her 
to leave him again. This could only be done by marry- 
ing her the following morning, and to do so had been his 
purpose all through Ned’s talk. But now he saw how 
utterly selfish he was. How heedless he had been of any 
interest save his own — of his friend’s interest, that friend 
who without murmur or hesitation had been ready to 
throw away his prospects rather than stand between him, 
Lysaght, and Ines. Ned had been faithful, while he had 
nearly failed through intense selfishness. 

In telling his tale Ned had proceeded upon the pre- 
sumption that no opposition would be offered. In a 
moment Lysaght determined he would not undeceive 
Ned, nevertheless it was well to proceed cautiously. 

“ I presume you have no doubt Mrs. Newton can do * 
all she says she can ? ” he asked. 

I have not the slightest doubt,” replied Ned, confi- 


200 


VIVIER. 


dently. “ I reach all my conclusions more from the 
manner and spirit she displayed than from her words.” 

“ I see,” said Lysaght. “ Still, you should recollect 
that we know comparatively little of her, and she might 
sacrifice us for some one nearer to her. You said, you 
know, that she seemed to be in great fear for some one 
unknown to you ? ” 

“ That is all true, Stan, but — ” he hesitated and looked 
at Lysaght, smiling peculiarly, “ do you think she is fond 
of Ella ? ” 

“ Her daughter ? Why, yes.” 

And that son of her’s, Dick ? ” 

“ Why, of course.” 

Have you forgotten what I did in saving the young 
scamp from just punishment?” 

Indeed, 1 had, Ned. There is a motive for her in- 
terference in our — your, behalf.” 

“ But there is still another and a greater one. Ella 
and I are engaged. She knows it.” 

The artist was crossing the room to procure a match 
to light his pipe ; he turned swiftly on Ned, amazed. 

“ You — and — Ella — are — engaged ? Heavens.” 

“ Perhaps you have some objections to offer to this 
royal alliance,” said Ned, enjoying his friend’s astonish- 
ment. 

“Objections? No, but I do most — ” the humor of 
the situation occurred to him. 

“ But, Ned,” he said gravely, “ have you discovered 
the antecedents of the girl ? ” 

“ Antecedents be hanged,” replied Ned recklessly. 

“ But you know, when a man marries a girl he does 
marry her antecedents, and most men when — ” 

“ Oh, stop,” cried Ned, laughing. “ Nothing is in such 
bad taste as to turn a man’s words on himself,” 


SETTING THE WEDDING-DAY. 


201 


‘‘ But,” continued Lysaght, not permitting his face to 
relax into a smile, “ most men when they propose to 
marry a girl would seek — ” 

“ I pray your mercy,” cried Ned. “ I’ll admit I was a 
prig if you will only stop. You see Mrs. Newton has a 
direct interest in me now, and therefore another guaran- 
tee of her good faith is afforded. 

“I’ll question you no more,” said Lysaght. “ But, old 
fellow. I’m heartily glad of the news. From the moment 
I saw Ella I respected her, and that respect has grown 
the more I have seen of her. You will have a most 
excellent woman and a really sweet and beautiful girl 
for a bride. It is more than I hoped for. I feared you 
would let your socidl position stand in the way of secur- 
ing one who is worth ten thousand of those you flirt and 
dance with. But now what are we to do ? ” 

“ Had I met you before I went to the club I would 
have said, do nothing for the present, let events develop 
themselves. But when you came in I was fresh from an 
interview with my father. In that interview he fixed the 
time of the wedding between Inez and myself — next 
Thursday at one o’clock p.m,, at the Vivier mansion in 
Madison Square — no cards. You are invited to be 
present.” 

Ned’s gayety did not please Lysaght. It was too 
serious a matter in his opinion. He got up, took a match 
and lit his pipe. 

Suddenly he turned to Ned. 

“ Does your father know that Inez is here ? ” 

. “ Heavens ! ” cried Ned. “ That idea never occurred 
to me. No, he does not dream of it. He has sent word 
to Mrs. Humphrey to bring Ines to town to-morrow. 
By George ; this is a new complication. This will have 
to be met. We must consult Mrs, Newton to-morrow.” 


202 


VIVIER. 


And Molleson.” 

“ Hang it, I can’t stand having that fellow mixed up 
with our affairs.” 

“ But he is in. Circumstances have brought him in. 
You must admit that his advice was wise and in our 
interest.” 

“ Because it was in line with his own, whatever it may 
be.” 

“ It is poor policy, Ned, to kick over the bridge that 
has borne you safely. The fact is, his services have 
been most valuable to us.” 

“ Perhaps. We’ll consider that question after we have 
talked with Mrs. Newton. The hour is late. We cannot 
think of going to her to-night. I will come early for 
you to-morrow morning, and we’ll go to her together.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A PLOT DETECTED. 

M OLLESON had awaited Monday with much impa- 
tience. Mr. Vivier’s note, requesting him to call, 
had given him great uneasiness. He was quite satisfied 
the banker had not been idle and that he would not sub- 
mit easily to being put under the harrow by the Rose 
Geranium matter. By what means he proposed to extri- 
cate himself, Molleson could not imagine. He knew that 
the banker had caused the records to be examined to dis- 
cover whether the precise hour of death of Mrs. Vivier 
had been recorded. No comfort had been obtained there, 
for the death at nine in the evening was certified to by the 
attending physician. He had made a venture with Rose, 
the meaning of which Molleson could not make out, 
beyond the supposition that it was a cautious feeler put 


A PLOT DETECTED. 


203 


forward to ascertain the temper of Rose toward the 
banker, and how much knowledge she possessed. Mol- 
leson was quite certain the summons to call had some bear- 
ing on the scandal. How, and in what way, could only 
be learned by a visit to the banker. Hence Molleson’s 
anxiety to have the time arrive. 

Promptly at the houi the adventurer found himself in 
the banker’s room. 

As he entered, Mr. Vivier, scowling at him, said 
abruptly : 

“I believe that loan I let you have was a call loan.” 

“I did not so understand it,” replied Molleson, calmly. 

“I did,” said the banker, in a tone intended to convey 
that no doubt was to be admitted. ‘‘Upon examination 
your collateral does not seem to be sufficient.” 

‘‘The old man has made a point somewhere,” thought 
Molleson. ‘ ‘I must play for delay. 

Aloud he said, coolly: 

‘‘That is to be regretted.” 

‘‘Yes. It is regrettable,” retorted the banker, with 
a sardonic grin, ‘‘and I am afraid I shall have to put you 
to the inconvenience of returning the money at once.” 

‘‘It would not be an inconvenience, ” replied Molle- 
son. ‘‘I am rather easy in funds just now. Still, it does 
not serve my purpose to return it. I not only didn’t 
understand it to be a call loan, but I knew it was not, 
and so did you. ” 

‘‘I make it so now,” decidedly replied the banker. 
‘‘Your collateral does not prove to be worth a cent. I 
could not raise a dollar on it.” 

‘‘The old man thinks he has me on the hip,” thought 
Molleson. ‘‘I must bluff to the last.” 

‘‘Perhaps,” he replied, ‘‘but it is valuable enough to 
make you pay a good many dollars on it.” 


204 


VIVIER. 


Mr. Vivier turned his eyes sharply upon his visitor, as 
if he would wrest from him the meaning concealed in 
the speech. 

Molleson felt that he had made a point without knowing 
how, or in what way. He strove to enforce it by adding: 

“It’s a curious sort of collateral, isn’t it?.’’ 

Mr. Vivier, after regarding him silently for some 
moments, stretched out his hand over his desk and took 
from a recess a paper, which he retained in one hand, tap- 
ping the other with it. 

“Without stating what that collateral was, exactly,’’ he 
said slowly, “I will remark that its value was based on 
the fact, that it was in your power to show a certain young 
lady how she could make it decidedly uncomfortable for 
me. Is that not so?’’ 

‘ ‘Yes — partly. ’’ 

“All of it — the whole of it,’’ replied the banker impa- 
tiently and decidedly. “Now please read this paper. ’ ’ He 
handed the paper he had taken from the desk to Molle- 
son, who read it carefully, and with unbounded astonish- 
ment: 


^ 



cCo 


AJU- CL'i>n.y^ 










A PLOT DETECTED. 


205 



'Molleson was dumbfounded. The banker had com- 
pletely cut the ground from under his feet. He stared 
stupidly at the clumsily worded document. Rose Gera- 
nium had put it not only out of her power, but his as well, 
to inflict injury upon the old man, whom he thought he 
had so securely snared. This second document had been 
obtained from her since Saturday. It was just as he had 
surmised. Vivier having been successful in the first, had 
gone a step further and obtained a stronger one from her. 
“The fool,” he muttered to himself, “she does not know 
what she has done.” 

He read it again and again,realizingthathe had been out- 
witted, and not knowing what way to turn. Yet all the time 
he was making a desperate effort not to lose his self-control. 

“The document would be stronger in effect,” he said, 
finally, “if she had known what she was doing.” 

“Perhaps,” said the banker, who was grimly enjoying 
his triumph. “But there it is. The fact that she did 
not intend to marry — was playing a farce, is pretty clearly 
stated. And the other fact, as well, that she holds me 
under no obligations.” 

“The whole incident, if well related, would be interest- 
ing to your club friends and fellow-financiers.” 


2o6 


VIVIEI^. 


“You know little of the world, my lad,” returned the 
banker, who was so triumphant that he could afford to be 
argumentative, “if you think the whole affair would not 
be forgotten in forty-eight hours. The fact that she will 
not claim to be my wife, ends the little episode as 
dangerous.” 

Molleson, to gain futher time, read the document again. 
The cause was lost to him; he saw that. What would be 
the consequences to him? He did not believe the banker 
would attempt to arrest him or to sue him for the recovery 
of the money; such proceedings would lead to publicity. 
No, Vivier had secured himself from attacks from Rose, 
from the claim that she was his wife, and from him, Mol- 
leson, in the future. He had been summoned to be told 
this. But he must expect attack from another quarter, 
and for another reason. As he thus reasoned, running 
his eyes over the page, the thought occurred to him, oddly 
and irrelevantly, that Mr. Vivier had been more sparing of 
his paper in his second document than in his first — that in- 
stead of writing upon alternate lines he had used each one. 

The banker sat by with a malicious grin upon his face, 
extremely irritating to Mollesqn. He wished he could 
say something that would cut deeply, but his faculties 
were numbed, apparently. 

He read the first line again; it was the same as of the 
paper Rose had shown him on Saturday. Mechanically 
he read the next line but one. He started with great 
surprise. His mind was no longer numb. Taking the 
letter upon the back of which he had copied the paper 
shown him by Rose on Saturday from his pocket, he com- 
pared the two closely and rapidly. 

The banker seemed disquieted and reached out his 
hand for the paper. Molleson drew back out of his reach, 
and as he did so he said contemptuously : 


A PLOT DETECTED. 


207 


“Vou are a fool, Vivier. That collateral is good for a 
loan twice the amount I received — yes, ten times the 
amount.” 

“Be careful,” said Mr. Vivier, ominously. 

“Oh, I’ll be careful,” retorted Molleson. “Now, lis- 
ten to me.” 

He handed the envelope he had taken from his pocket 
to the banker and read from the paper he had in his 
hand. He read every alternate line : 






oCo ri^ erf" ^ 

, \ 






CcxwiruM^ cyy-Lcn^^PZ ^ 




d- U>>x4^. 




With a mocking laugh he handed the paper back to 
the banker. 


2o8 


VIVIER. 


“There is a strange similarity between the alternate 
lines of your paper and those on the back of that envelope, 
is there not?” 

“Where did you get that, you scoundrel?” demanded 
the banker, trembling with passion. 

“You perceive it is not a call loan by any means,” 
continued Molleson, unheedful of the, angry demand of the 
other. “I am not lawyer enough to know whether that 
would be called a clever bit of forgery or not, Vivier, but 
it looks to me very much like it. The value of my col- 
lateral has been very largely increased by that bit of 
foolishness.” 

“Do you dare to acuse me of — ” 

“Oh, I dare do anything. Dare? I have spent my life 
in daring,” interrupted Molleson. “This is clever — be 
content with that; so clever that if it were not for an acci- 
dent, I should have been wholly misled. I happened to 
meet Rose Geranium on Saturday and she showed me the 
document you sent for her signature — written on alternate 
lines. That is how I came to recognize the fact that you 
had filled in the blank lines after you received the document 
signed by her. It is a pretty^ trick. Now, let me say 
something to you. I kept my part of the bargain and 
have made no mention of this knowledge to Rose or to 
any one else. After this ridiculous folly and this attempt 
to overcome me by trickery, I shall feel absolved from 
all promises and pledges. I do not say I will tdl her 
now, but if I want to I will.” 

He took his hat and went out. As the door closed 
upon him, the banker tapped a bell and a man stepped 
from an adjoining room. 

“Follow that man and give me a detailed report of 
every movement he makes.” 

He hastened after Molleson, He was a private detective. 


A PLOT DETECTED. 


209 


Resting his elbow on his desk and his head on his hand, 
the banker remained long in meditation. 

“Accident has defeated my plan,” he said finally. 
“By this device I hoped to keep this scoundrel quiet 
until after I could approach this girl by proper influences. 
That unlucky meeting on Saturday destroyed a well-laid 
scheme. If I had put a detective on his track last week, 
instead of to-day, I would have been guarded against it. 
However, it makes it all the more necessary to move with 
increased quickness.” 

He picked up the paper, the trick of which had been 
discovered by Molleson, and grimly tore it into bits, scat- 
tering them on the floor. 

“It is safer destroyed,” he muttered. “Curse it! If 
I could but make this Upshaw matter remain quiet until 
after I had Ned well married, I could take it up then 
single handed and defeat it.” 

He got up from his chair and walked up and down the 
room with his hands deep in his pockets. 

“No matter what it cost it must be done, and by 
Heaven’s, it shall be done, — but how?” 

He crossed to the mantel and leaned his elbow upon it. 
As he did so his eyes fell upon a card. 

“The very thing,” he cried joyfully. 

He fairly skipped across the room to his desk, where 
he struck his call bell. To the clerk who responded he 
said: 

“Wheeler, do you know a man named Egbert Sturde- 
vant?” 

“The writer, dramatist, man about town?” 

“The same. Could you find him quickly?” 

“I do not know about quickly, sir. I am not ac- 
quainted with his haunts. But in time I could find him.” 

“Do so. Take a cab and hunt him up as soon as you 


210 


VIVIER. 


can. Ask him to dine with me this evening at the club. 
Tell him I have some business to talk over with him. I 
say, Wheeler, what is your estimate of the man?” 

‘‘A rattling, dashing, brilliant, reckless fellow, of 
undoubted ability. Rather a Bohemian, I imagine. 
Ready for anything that has the spirit of adventure.” 

“That is my opinion — handsome, clever, witty and 
entertaining. ’ ’ 

“That is it, sir; a most agreeable companion at a din- 
ner table — apt to make you pay for his society by bor- 
rowing your money afterwards; not troubled with consci- 
ence or scruples, fine address, and the cheek of a brass 
monkey.” 

The banker laughed. 

‘‘See that he comes to me to dinner to-night at seven.” 

As the confidential clerk went out he turned to his desk 
and said: 

‘‘We’ll see if we cannot yet get the upper hand of Mr. 
Molleson.” 

As he did so, the clerk returned. 

‘‘Perhaps I ought to tell you ^something that came to my 
knowledge last evening, if you propose to entertain Mr. 
Sturdevant at dinner.” 

‘‘What is that?” 

‘‘You recollect the Rose Geranium you sent me to 
recently?” 

‘‘Yes” replied the banker, much interested. 

‘‘Well, this Sturdevant is much in her society — infatu- 
ated with her, in fact they are writing a play together, I 
believe. The point is, that he goes everywhere with her, 
rides with her. Perhaps, since there is so much talk, you 
may not want to entertain him.” 

‘‘Oh,” said the banker, “it is not like introducing him 
into one’s family. ” 


NED'S VICTORY. 


211 


CHAPTER XXVI. 
ned’s victory. 

A greeably to his promise to call early for Lysaght 
on the morning following their meeting, when Ned 
had such difficulty in reducing his friend to reasonable 
submission, he presented himself at the artist’s apartments 
at eight o’clock. Having breakfasted, they went to Mrs, 
Newton’s house, arriving there shortly after nine. Before 
any consultation could be entered into, Lysaght insisted 
upon being assured by occular demonstration that Ines 
had received no harm from her adventure. Ned would 
have preferred that Lysaght should have had his interview 
with Mrs. Newton, before a lengthy one with Ines, desir- 
ing, as he did, to have the artist fully impressed with what 
he believed to be the powerful influence that that lady 
could exert upon the situation. But he realized the 
impossibility and indeed the unreasonableness of his 
desire, and so an hour elapsed before Lysaght could be 
induced to confer with his friend and Mrs. Newton. 

When, at length, however, the three were gathered in 
the little front parlor, Mrs. Newton again, and with 
increased confidence, asserted her ability to control mat- 
ters to the extent of preventing a marriage between Ines 
and Ned, provided she was permitted to go about it in 
her own way, and was not compelled to disclose the 
methods she would employ or the reasons which lay back 
of her power. 

Lysaght was not wholly satisfied. Molleson’s plan 
seemed to be more direct and efficient ; besides it had 
the merit of being plain and straightforward, no mystery 
attached to it, and this consideration he urged gently at 
first. Mrs. Newton evinced much nervousness and agita- 


212 


VIVIER. 


tion over his opposition, and implored him to abandon 
all idea of Molleson’s plan. 

“You do not know what harm you will do to people 
I am interested in,” she pleaded; “what harm to me, to 
Ella, even to Mr. Vivier here. I assure you such a course 
would result in a quarrel between Mr. Vivier and his 
father. Believe me, this is true.” 

“Of course,” replied Lysaght, “I wish to avert a quar- 
rel between Ned and his father, but I cannot see how, in 
giving ourselves up to you, it can be avoided any more by 
your way than in following ours.” 

“Nor can I tell you now. I have so much thinking 
to do, so many people’s interests to look after and to guard, 
that I cannot tell you now,” replied the poor woman 
excitedly. “But it will turn out as you want it, lam 
certain. I must do this in my own way ! I must have 
your trust, your blind trust ; this thing must be done so 
that the least number of persons shall be harmed. ’ ’ 

Ned, who saw that Mrs. Newton was in an exceedingly 
nervous condition, and that Lysaght’s obstinate opposi- 
tion only increased that condition, making her nearly 
frantic, said soothingly: 

“Mrs. Newton, everything shall be as you want it. I 
pledge myself and Lysaght to that.” 

“Then,” she replied, comforted, “do nothing. Let 
your father have no suspicion that anything to frustrate 
his plans is likely to occur. Let all the preparations pro- 
ceed even to the last moment if needs be. You have but 
three days to wait, and I have so much to do in those 
three days.” 

But Lysaght, though he did not reply, was not satisfied 
evidently. He thought Mrs. Newton should reveal the 
mystery before she asked such blind trust. 

“There is one thing more to be done, and it must be,” 


NED'S VICTDEY. 


213 


said Mrs. Newton, firmly and decidedly, “Mrs. Humphrey 
must be informed where Ines is.” 

“No,” said Lysaght excitedly, “I will not permit that. ” 

Mrs. Newton became greatly agitated again, and cast 
imploring glances at Ned. 

“I cannot keep her here without great danger to myself. 

I have trembled all the time since I learned who she was.” 

“I will see that she is cared for. I will take her away,” 
said Lysaght. “I will be responsible for her.” 

“That mustn't be,” cried Mrs. Newton; “she must go 
back to those who have had her in charge. It is neces- 
sary to my work. ’ ’ 

“That she shall not do.” said Lysaght angrily., “I 
have submitted to all the mystery I am going to.” 

Mrs. Newton's agitation became so great that Ned 
feared she would faint, but she controlled herself suffi- 
ciently to say to Ned, imploringly. 

“He will ruin everything. Why will he not listen to | 
reason? He will make the rupture between yourself 
and your father complete. He will ruin a family which 
stands high in the world, and I am trying so hard to save 
its good name. He will endanger his own marriage, make 
Ines unhappy, perhaps. , Why is he so selfish? Why will 
he not trust me?” 

' “He will,” cried Ned, firmly, losing all patience with 
his friend’s obstinacy. 

Turning to Lysaght he said: 

“Stan, are you determined to ruin me? Are you so 
selfish that you can see no one's interests but your own? 
Will you give no consideration to my condition? Did I 
act so on that day when I found that to marry the woman 
my father wished, was to take from you the woman you 
loved? Did I think only of myself? Or did I have some 
consideration for you?” 


214 


VIVIER. 


The artist had not looked at his own conduct in that 
light, and he felt ashamed of himself. 

But I fear for Ines,” he said, in a surly tone. “ If 
she gets back into their hands I don’t know what will 
happen.” 

“There 'is no fear,” cried Mrs. Newton. “ I swear to 
you that she shall not marry Mr. Vivier, and that is all 
the old Mr. Vivier asks.” 

“ He will trust you,” said Ned. “ I will engage that.” 

Lysaght did not reply, and Mrs. Newton waited for 
assurances from his lips. 

Ned, who was thinking, suddenly asked': 

“ Does Miss Alloway regard me with the same aver- 
sion she did when she first came here? ” 

“ No,” replied’ Mrs. Newton, surprised at, the appar- 
ently irrelevant question. “ She understands the situa- 
tion now as she did not then. Upon the contrary, she 
is very favorably inclined to you, and thinks your atti- 
tude in the whole affair has been very manly and high- 
spirited — very noble.” 

“ Has she been informed as to her identity ?” 

“ No.” 

“ That is as it should be,” said Ned. “ Please ask 
her to join us.” 

Mrs. Newton fose to comply with Ned’s request. As 
she left the room, Lysaght looked inquiringly at Ned. 

“ I propose,” said Ned, answering the inquiry ex- 
pressed in the look, “to submit this matter to the judg- 
ment of Miss Alloway.” 

Lysaght shifted in his seat uneasily as he asked : 

“ Is her judgment so much better than mine ? ” 

“ It will, I think, be less selfish and more generous.” 

Lysaght colored, but before he could reply Ines, fol- 
lowed by Mrs. Newton, entered. 


NED'S VICTORY. 


^i5 

Ned advanced, and conducting her to a seat said : 

“ Miss Alloway, you know, I presume, we are in great 
difficulty.” 

‘‘Yes,” replied Ines, much awed by the solemnity of 
the conference to which she had been summoned. 

“ My father,” continued Ned, “ who has been your 
guardian for so many years, has formed a plan that you 
and I should marry. But you loved Lysaghtand I loved 
Ella. To most men such conditions would have made 
his plans impossible. With my father it would have no 
weight, it would have been reason for greater insistence. 
He is one determined to carry out his plans at all hazards. 
To offer him as reason for the abandonment of his plans, 
your love for Lysaght and mine for Ella, would be to 
excite his contemptuous laughter. To say to him, ‘I 
will not marry the one you have chosen for me,’ would 
result in my disinheritance — in his abandonment of me. 
From riches I would descend to poverty — the worst kind, 
for it would be helpless poverty. Apart from these 
reasons, against our union, there is another. I could not 
•be a party to robbing my friend of the bride he has won. 
Now, when we were at our wit’s end, not knowing in 
which direction to turn for relief, the proposition is made 
that Lysaght should induce you to consent to be secretly 
married to him, and relying upon another fact which has 
been discovered — ” 

“ I should be permitted to tell that,” broke in Lysaght. 

“I shall not tell it,” said Ned. “ No rights of yours 
will be infringed upon by me. I say, relying upon 
another fact which has been discovered, giving Lysaght a 
new position of strength, we hoped to make a successful 
contest against my father. But the danger involved, to 
me at least, is, that I am compelled to take a part in a 
conspiracy against my father, and that that part would 


2i6 


VIVIER. 


be discovered by him, and I injured, in consequence, 
quite as much as by flat refusal. This is the situation of 
affairs, when you contribute to the easy execution of this 
plan by coming so unexpectedly to Lysaght. But now, 
Mrs. Newton, to whom that fact, to which I vaguely 
alluded, has been communicated, comes forward and 
says that it is in her power to save us all — to prevent a 
rupture between my father and myself — to make our 
union appear so impossible to my father that he will be 
compelled to willingly relinquish his plan. Why, and 
how ? She answers that we must put our trust in her ; 
that she will do it ; she must be permitted to keep her 
own counsel ; that it is necessary to protect the interests 
of other people who are likely to be injured in the rev- 
elations she must make ; and that she herself is in 
danger of harm, which she desires to lessen as much as 
possible. So she wants me to conduct myself as if I 
entirely acquiesced in my father’s plans, no matter how 
near we are to go to their consummation ; she wants you 
to do the same ; she wants Mrs. Humphrey to be 
informed that you are here, and also, that you go back to 
Mrs. Humphrey’s care until she has brought matters to 
an issue, and, as I do, apparently acquiesce in Mr. Viv- 
ier’s desires. To this, Mr. Lysaght, who fears for you, 
objects, saying it shall not be. It is simply a question 
whether or not we shall put our trust in Mrs. Newton?” 

Ines cast upon L3^saght a glance of astonishment, even 
of reproach. She rose hastily, and going to Mrs. New- 
ton bent over her and kissed her upon her forehead. 
Straightening her form, she said in clear, firm tones : 

“ Trust her ? Yes, with my life and soul. She took 
me in when I was lost, forlorn, and wretched, and has 
cared for me tenderly. When am I to go back to Mrs. 
Humphrey ? ” 


MRS. HUMPHREY'S SEARCH. 


217 


Mrs. Newton, bursting into tears, caressed the hand 
of the girl which had stolen into her own, and Ned even, 
greatly moved by the directness and simplicity of Ines, 
found the windows attractive for a moment. Lysaght, 
who seemed to feel that her unqualified and unwavering 
trust was in some manner a rebuke to himself, said 
apologetically : 

“ I feared for you.” 

“ Then it is understood I go back,” said Ines in reply. 

“ Not until they come for you,” replied Ned. “ Ly- 
saght shall inform them. Come, Stan, we will go to 
your studio.” 

The two young men thereupon took their departure. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

MRS. Humphrey’s search. 

M r. VIVIER had not been long at his office Tuesday 
morning when his guest of the evening previous 
made his appearance. 

As Sturdevant entered, the banker rose to meet him. 
The young gentleman was gay in his manner, his face 
beaming with satisfaction. 

“See, the conquering hero comes,” he cried. “You 
have not an orchestra about to give proper and dramatic 
effect to my e^itree., have you?” 

“You have been successful?” delightedly asked the 
banker. 

“Beyond my fondest anticipations,” replied the young 
man, as he flung himself gracefully into a chair and con- 
templated the banker affectionately. 

“When is it to be?” 

“Thursday, as you suggested. Are you satisfied?” 


ViVlEJi. 


2iS 

“Entirely. How was it done?" 

“ Easily enough, when so consummate a master of the 
art of persuasion as your humble servant undertook the 
contract, added to the fact that his agreeable and fascinat- 
ing self as a companion was offered as an inducement. 
But, seriously, I think she was caught with the novelty of 
the proposition, and her recklessness, dash, perhaps a se- 
cret longing for a change and new fields for action, made 
her accept." 

“There is no probability of a change of mind?" 

“None. Too far gone now. Trust me for that." 

The banker, greatly pleased, drew a check upon which 
he obtained the cash and handed it to Sturdevant, saying: 

“This is entirely outside our bargain — a recognition 
of your promptitude. On Thursday, at the last moment, 
the entire amount agreed upon will be placed in your 
hands." 

The young man drew a wry face as he pocketed the 
money. 

“Suppose your messenger should be a moment late?" 

“There will be no messenger. I will be there- myself . 
If I am not there half an hour before the time, return here 
and tell me. I never fail." 

“True," said the young man, regaining his spirits. “I 
should not have questioned it. But there is one thing 
more you must do in addition. I could not avoid it. 
The only opposition she made was on account of her 
horses. I have undertaken to sell them." 

“ I have bought them." 

“ There are four of them. Six hundred apiece." 

“ They are mine." 

“ Check, please." 

The banker laughed. The young man’s imitation of 
his brevity of speech pleased him. He drew the check 


MRS. HUMPHA^EY'S SBARCIf. 219 

requested, and handed it to him. As Sturdevant rose to 
take his leave, the banker said : 

“ Go on with your preparations. You will not see me 
again until half an hour before the time, when I will be 
there.” 

“ Very well. Good-morning.” 

A man watched Sturdevant descend the steps of the 
banking-house and paused to see him pass. It was 
Molleson. 

“I presume,” he muttered, “I shall be suspicious of 
my own shadow, presently. There is really no reason 
for the thought, except his relation to that girl. Pshaw ! 
A thousand men enter there every day over whom I 
might raise suspicions, I imagine.” 

He turned sharply to walk on, and in doing so nearly 
came in contact with a lady who was just stepping from 
the pavement to ascend the banking-house steps. Mol- 
leson lifted his hat politely in apology, and continued on 
his way. 

The lady entered and asked for Mr. Vivier. In a 
moment she was ushered into the presence of the banker. 

“ Well, Mrs. Humphrey,” he said, as he advanced to 
meet her. “ Have you arrived with your charge ? ” 

“ No,” she replied. “ She is already here — preceded 
me.” 

“ I do not know what you mean,” he said, with quick 
alarm. 

“ Ines fled from me on Saturday last.” 

“ D — n it, woman, what do you mean ? ” he demanded 
in a sudden passion. 

“ She has run away.” 

“ When ? ” 

“ Last Saturday. In the early morning.” 

“ And you never let me know until now.” 


220 


VIVIER. 


“ I did not know which way she had gone until yester- 
day afternoon." 

“ Why did she run away ? " 

“ From this marriage you were forcing on her." 

“ For Heaven’s sake, am I to be defeated in the hour 
of success by this chit of a girl ? You have done your 
work badly." 

“ I have followed your instructions. You instructed 
me to use force." 

“ Bah ! Where did she go to ? " 

“ This city. We hunted all day Saturday and Sunday, 
supposing her to be at a neighbor’s house. Yesterday we 
traced her to the Albany station, where she took the cars." 

“To this city. She knows no one here ? ’’ 

“ Yes, one. Lysaght the artist." 

“ D — him, yes. The one who made love to her. 
Does she love him ?" 

“ It seems so." 

“ But you thought it a mere flirtation." 

“ I was mistaken, I found, when I received your letter 
to prepare lues’s mind for the wedding. I talked with 
her about it, and while she protested and refused to 
entertain the idea, and affected to look with abhorrence 
upon a union with a man who could be so servilely obe- 
dient to a father’s commands, as to wed a woman he did 
not know or care for, she did not hint of her love for 
another person until I told her she had no choice in the 
matter and must be prepared to marry on Thursday." 

“ Has this fellow Lysaght seen her since you told me 
of their meetings ? ’’ 

. “ No, but I have reason to believe they have been 
having a secret correspondence." 

“ But, if you had followed my instructions that would 
have been impossible without your knowledge." 


MJ^S. HUMPHREY'S SEARCH. 


221 


“ The mails were not used directly. I found yester- 
day a letter addressed to her, hid in the rosebush under 
her window, unopened — having been placed there after 
her escape. Here it is. You will perceive that it has 
no stamp.” 

The banker read it hastily. 

“ Proposes an elopement, I see. Then he was the one 
who assisted her ? ” 

“ No.” 

“No.. Why?” 

“ Because on the day following the night she ran away he 
came up as far as Blooming Grove, where he saw a neigh- 
bor’s son, who informed him of what the neighborhood 
knew — that Ines had run away. He was greatly excited 
and cried, ‘ Heavens, and I here. Why did she not wait ? 
Into whose hands will she fall ? ’ He returned to Albany 
and took the next train to New York. His remarks 
prove that she must have taken the step she did without 
his knowledge.” 

“ But ran away to him. It proves two things. You 
have done your work of searching well as far as you have 
gone, but you did wrong in not informing me at once.” 

“ I could not believe until yesterday that she had left 
the neighborhood?’ 

Mr. Vivier rested his arm on his desk and bent his 
head in thought. The result of his reflections he summed 
up tersely. 

“ Lysaght returned to New York to search for her. 
He has had sixty hours the lead of us. In all proba- 
bility he has found her. If he has, they are married by 
this time and my plans are defeated, and I am in great 
danger. If he has not, the field is as open to us as to 
him. If he has employed the police and has not found 
her, their work will count as much for us as for him.” 


. 


VIVIER. 


He turned briskly to Mrs. Humphrey : 

“You must go at once to Lysaght’s studio. I’ll find 
his address — ” 

“ I have it,” interrupted Mrs. Humphrey. “ It is on 
that letter.” 

“ Oh, yes. Then go to him and find out what you 
can, whether married or not. If not, demand possession 
immediately, threaten him with arrest, have him arrested 
if needs be. Delay not a moment. Seconds are valu- 
able in this search. I will put myself in communication 
with the police immediately.” 

Mrs. Humphrey departed upon her mission. 

At the time she was leaving the banking-house 
Lysaght ascended the stairs leading to his studio, having 
parted with Ned at the door, promising to write at once 
and give the information that Ines was in New York and 
would return to those who had her in charge. 

This promise he had given willingly when he saw that 
his position was so wholly selfish that he could not main- 
tain it. He had hardly completed his letter when he 
heard a rap at the door. Opening it, he was astonished 
to find Mrs. Humphrey before him, grim and severe. 

“ I want Ines,” she said, abruptly facing him. 

Her manner brought Lysaght to his senses and amused 
him. 

“ I have not Ines in my possession,” he replied, “ but 
I know where she is.” 

“ Then you have found her,” said Mrs. Humphrey, in 
a tone that conveyed intense relief. “ Are you married ? ” 

Lysaght laughed as he answered in the negative. 

“ I demand her then — immediately,” said Mrs. Hum- 
phrey, growing bolder as her relief became greater. 

“ I had but just written you,” said Lysaght, handing 
her the letter he held in his hand. 


MRS. HUMPHREY'S SEARCH. 223 

Mrs. Humphrey, in her eagerness, fairly snatched it 
from him and tore it open. It was brief, merely inform- 
ing her where Ines was to be found. 

She could not comprehend it ; there seemed to be no 
opposition to her regaining possession of Ines. 

“ Who are these people she is with ? ” she demanded, 
in a tone which conveyed suspicion of them. 

“ Quite as respectable as you are,” retorted Lysaght, 
nettled by her tone and manner. 

“ Can I see her if I go there?” 

“ Without difficulty,” was the reply. 

Mrs. Humphrey, who had prepared herself to do vali- 
ant battle, was quite bewildered by- the bloodlessness of 
her victory. The idea occurred to her that, after entic- 
ing the girl to run away, he had abandoned her because 
she had done so, and she was angered. 

- “ Having induced the poor girl to compromise her- 
self,” she said scornfully, “ you have tired of her, have 
you ? ” 

No less angered, the artist replied : 

“ I would advise you to be particularly careful as to your 
language. I am not in a good humor, and I will not 
permit any insinuations, however remote, as to the con- 
duct of Miss Alloway. You have her address ; you can 
see her ; you can, if she will go with you, take her away. 
That is all the communication we need have. I bid you 
good-afternoon.” 

He bowed and Mrs. Humphrey, to her intense indig- 
nation, found the door closed on her. She recovered, 
however, by the time she reached the street, greatly aided 
by her elation over finding Ines. Her first impulse was 
to go at once to Ines and upbraid her for her conduct ; 
her next, and the one she acted upon, to go to the banker 
without delay. 


224 


VIVIER. 


She found the banker moody — indeed angry. 

“ Well,” he said, as she entered, “ the damage is done. 
That fellow has found her.” 

“ How do you know ? ” queried Mrs. Humphrey, dis- 
appointed that Mr. Vivier had the news she thought she 
was bringing. 

“ The police told me, that after hunting two days for 
her, Lysaght informed them last night that he had found 
her. I suppose they are married ? ” 

“ No,” replied Mrs. Humphrey, shortly. 

“ No ? ” The face of the banker brightened. “ All is 
not lost yet. How is it ? ” 

The lady recited accurately in detail the conversation 
she had had with Lysaght. 

The banker was interested and mystified. 

“What IS the meaning of it?” he asked suspiciously. 
“ I fear there is some mischief going on. Of his own 
free will he was about to inform you, eh ? Um. I don’t 
like it. There is something behind this.” 

He pondered some moments, and at length, with the 
air of one who had not satisfied himself, said : " 

“At all events we will take advantage of the present 
situation and closely watch developments. You must 
get possession of the girl without delay. Go to this Mrs. 
Newton — Newton, Newton, have I ever heard that name 
before? I think not — well, go to this Mrs. Newton and 
demand Ines. Now don’t be a fool. Don’t vent all the 
trouble, anxiety, and vexation she has caused you upon 
her. Keep fast hold of your temper, and treat her as if 
she had been on a visit to some friend. Take her to the 
Madison Avenue house as I wrote you. You will find 
everything ready for you there. I will call in and see 
how you are settled this afternoon late.” 

Mrs. Humphrey went away everything but content 


MRS. HUMPHREY'S SEARCH. 


225 


She had been promising herself the exhilaration of a good 
scolding of Ines. But the banker was not one to be 
disobeyed. 

Molleson made his appearance at Lysaght’s studio 
shortly after Mrs. Humphrey had departed 

Lysaght was delighted to see him. He was the one 
man he wanted to consult, and so he welcomed the adven- 
turer heartily. 

“ What with being out of town and busy since my 
return, I have not been able to see you for three days,” 
said Molleson. “I hope matters are moving satisfac- 
torily.” 

“ Matters have been moving,” replied the artist, “ and 
with a vengeance. But whether satisfactorily, I am not 
quite so certain.” 

I hope nothing has gone wrong,” said Molleson, 
hitching his chair more closely to the artist, and placing 
his hat on the floor carefully, so that the rim and the 
smallest part possible of the crown rested upon it. 

“ Well, perhaps not, but a great deal has taken place.” 

The artist briefly but lucidly informed him of his rapid 
journey to Albany and return, the flight of Ines, her 
meeting with Ella, Mrs. Newton’s interposition, and the 
fixing of the day for the wedding of Ines and Ned. 

Molleson was deeply interested. Events were culmi- 
nating, that was clear enough to satisfy any one. More- 
over he felt that the limit of his search for the missing 
fortune, that is, as the search as conducted by him alone, 
was fixed by the wedding-day. And who was this woman, 
Mrs. Newton, who had entered and become so suddenly 
so great a factor ? 

Who is this Mrs. Newton ? ” he asked. 

“That is just what I would like to know,” replied 
Lysaght, irritably. “ She is a widow ; her husband died 


226 


VIVIER. 


some fifteen years ago. He was Secretary of the Moon 
Insurance Company. She has a little property — suffi- 
cient to support her family fairly well. She seems to be 
respectable and is well regarded by her neighbors. That 
is all I have been able to find out. Ned Vivier places 
an absurd trust in her.” 

“ He loves her daughter,” replied Molleson, smiling. 
“ They are engaged with the consent of the mother. 
There is guarantee of her sincerity. She cannot serve 
him without serving you.” 

The artist appreciated the full force of this remark, 
but did not reply. 

“ Does she pretend to exert a power over Vivier, the 
banker ? ” asked Molleson. 

“ She does not pretend to know him,” replied the artist 
curtly. 

“ It is not necessary to know a man to exert a power 
over him,” replied Molleson sententiously. 

“ She does not pretend a desire to touch him except 
as she thwarts his plan to marry Ned to Ines. What she 
is to do, or how, or where, or when, she will let no one 
know.” 

Molleson reflected rapidly. He had hoped to delay 
the wedding, but' since the banker had set the day, 
nothing [that Ned or Lysaght could do would lengthen 
the time. This womaa, if she could do what she said she 
could, was the one who would delay it. 

“ She is a new element in the game,” he said. “ It 
does not look bad. I am still inclined to think the plan 
I suggested is better, still she is right in saying her plan 
is the safer one.” 

“You think, then,” inquired Lysaght eagerly, “ that 
there is no chance of her failing ? ” 

“ I am not in a position to form an opinion,” replied 


MRS. HUMPHREY'S SEARCH 


227 


Molleson. “ I should think that largely depended upon 
the woman herself. I think she has the power she 
claims. Is she a woman who will carry out her pur- 
poses — a woman of will and determination ? You can 
answer that. I think from what you say of her she is 
sincere. The point we want to accomplish is to prevent 
the marriage of Mr. Vivier and Miss Alloway. That she 
promises to do without injury to Mr. Vivier. On the 
whole, I should think I would let her try.” 

Lysaght, who had counted upon Molleson as one who 
would support him in the position he had yielded in the 
interest of Ned, was chagrined to find Molleson join the 
other side. He had told these things to Molleson, 
despite Ned’s annoyance when he came to know it, in the 
belief that he would have some one with him in his way 
of thinking. He was alone, as he found, and was so 
annoyed at the discovery that he became reserved. 

Molleson was busy with the new phase the problem 
presented. Suddenly he asked : 

“ Where does this Mrs. Newton reside ? ” 

Lysaght gave him the desired information, and shortly 
after Molleson went away. As he descended the stairs 
he said to himself aloud : 

“ Well, I have been working on this affair now nearly 
a month, and what are the results ? I have found Ly- 
' saght’s daughter, have wrung $2500 out of old Vivier, and 
have turned his passive dislike into active enmity. The 
net results are not brilliant, but, if that idea I hardly 
dare whisper to myself should grow into form, perhaps — 
who knows ? ” 

He stepped out on the street, still muttering to him- 
seif. 

“ This Mrs. Newton mystifies the matter. Who is 
she ? What does she know ? The affair seems to grow 


228 


VIVIER. 


darker and more mysterious the deeper we get in. 
What a lot of ‘why’s’ there are! Why is- old Mr. 
Vivier so anxious to marry his son to this girl? Why 
has he changed her name ? Why has he kept her in 
ignorance of her own identity ? Why — hang it, why 
can’t I answer one of them ? I’ll take a walk around the 
Newton mansion. I know a grocer in that neighbor- 
hood.” 

His inquiries yielded him little more than he had 
already learned from Lysaght. She had lived in the 
house she owned and occupied many years, was an 
admirable person, living quietly and simply. 

“ I cannot count this as an exceedingly profitable day,” 
said Molleson, as he walked away from his friend, the 
grocer, “ and but few remain. I must hunt up this min- 
ister in Brooklyn, and I’ll do it now.” 

Evidently the day was to be one of disappointment. He 
went far into Brooklyn to find that the person he sought 
had sailed for Europe that very morning. He went 
home disgusted and weary, and dispatched a note to 
Mrs. Crewe, saying he would inspect her diary- the fol- 
lowing morning at ten o’clock. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

INSPECTING THE DIARY. 

M rs. CREWE made prompt answer to Molleson’s 
note, saying she would meet him at the desig- 
nated place — the safety deposit vault — at ten the next 
morning as he desired. 

Molleson had not much faith in results to flow from 
the inspection of Mrs. Crewe’s diary, still he felt that he 
would not be justified in leaving any stone unturned. 


INSPECTING THE DIARY. 


229 


He had become much discouraged in his search for the 
missing fortune and but little time, as he viewed it, 
remained to him. He was sitting alone in the room where 
he kept his papers when Mrs. Crewe’s answer was brought 
to him, and he devoted himself to an audible examina- 
tion of his situation. 

“ I have done all that a man placed as I am could do. 
I have narrowed the time to fifteen minutes and the 
place to one block. To that time and that block all 
energies must be bent for the next twenty-four hours. 
If that were all, it would be easy, but I have the old man 
Vivier to look after. He is working some game, I know. 
Doubtless to escape from the consequences of my rev- 
elation. If he does, good-by, Mr. Molleson. My safety 
and profit lie in standing between the old man and pub- 
licity and shame. If I precipitate this woman upon him 
I am out of the running, for he will deal with her. • If it 
becomes public then no reason exists for his staying his 
hand against me. Therefore, I must either retain this 
hold on him, or get a hold on him some other way. The 
Leila Carman affair wont work ; Leila is the only one 
who would be hurt. Vivier wouldn’t care about a mere 
liaison ; he would laugh at it. There is plenty if I knew 
where to pick it up. I am going to gamble on Leila’s 
diary just for that. I wonder what is back of the old 
fellow’s extreme anxiety to marry his son to Lysaght’s 
daughter. There is something there. I must keep close 
to those boys for any accidental development. But one 
thing I must do, and I’ll do it to-morrow afternoon or. 
evening. I must see Rose Geranium and see whether 
the old fellow has been attempting any new move in that 
direction.” 

Mr. Molleson sank back in his chair, stretched out his 
legs, and let his chin rest on his breast as he meditated. 


230 


VIVIER. 


“ What was he up to,” he muttered, “when he ^ faked ’ 
that certificate ? I suppose it was to ‘ bluff ’ me. But 
why ? To throw-ine off while he was working some new 
scheme. Sure. What new scheme ? That I must find 
out and quickly. I’ll see her to-morrow, and now I’ll 
go to bed, for I want rest.” 

Mrs. Crewe was awaiting Molleson at the safety deposit 
vault when he arrived promptly at the hour of ten 
the following morning. They were taken, at Mrs. 
Crewe’s request, into one of the iron cages, where depos- 
itors are secured from possible disturbance, and there 
Molleson was placed in possession of the diary. 

As he was about to open it, Mrs. Crewe laid her hand 
upon the book, and said : 

“ Remember our bargain, please.” 

Molleson laughed. 

“ Payment before delivery, eh ? You do a strictly cash 
business, Leila.” 

“ That was our understanding. After inspection you 
might pronounce everything of no value.” 

Molleson laughed again, good-naturedly. 

“ I had already intended to gamble upon it. Here is 
your paper.” . 

The lady eagerly clutched it, and devoured it rapidly. 

As she read the color mounted to her face, and she sat 
herself down, exclaiming : 

“ How could I ever have consented to sign so infamous 
a document. Never was it so necessary as now for me 
to destroy it.” 

She tore the paper into infinitesimal bits, gathering the 
particles into her handkerclnef. 

Molleson, engrossed with his work, heard not a word. 
He was reading carefully page by page. Mrs. Crewe 
waited patiently, carrying out her part of the bargain 


INSPECTING THE DIARY. 


231 


with commendable fortitude. -Two hours passed away, 
still Molleson read on. 

Suddenly he exclaimed ; 

“ Ah, have I something here ? 

He turned over the pages following, scanning them 
rapidly, and went back to the one which had excited his 
interest. 

“ This covers the period of Lysaght’s death. This 
must be read carefully.” 

After a moment he raised his head ; 

‘‘ Leila, I want to copy these pages.” 

“ What have you found ? ” 

“ Nothing on the face of it, but fitted into certain facts 
in my possession, I may be able to work out a puzzle 
that has been baffling me some time.” 

“ What is it ? ” asked Mrs. Crewe, whose curiosity was 
aroused. 

Molleson hesitated. He did not wish to take Mrs. 
Crewe into his confidence, yet he did not want to lose the 
opportunity of copying the pages by offending her. 
He resorted to prevarication. 

“ In the days when I trusted Vivier, I invested some 
money as a speculation with him. I see here he has been 
telling of his manipulation of the market ; if it is the 
same one in which I lost my money, which I can only 
tell by comparing dates at home, I will have a little lift 
on him.” 

Mrs. Crewe, satisfied, said : 

“You will leave all names out of your copy.” 

“ Certainly, — names are of no use.” 

“ I shall not object, then.” 

She went on reading the book she carried with her, 
and Molleson hastily copied a great many more pages 
than the one he had pointed out to Mrs. Crewe, and with- 


232 


VIVIER. 


out her observation. Having finished his work, he care- 
fully placed all but two of the slips in his pocket, and 
laying these two ostentatiously on the desk, closed the 
book and announced that he was through his inspection. 
Mrs. Crewe was not curious to examine his copy, so he 
picked it up as she returned the book to the box from 
which she had taken it, and all having been locked up 
again they departed, each going their way. 

Molleson made his way to his lawyer, and after urging 
him to push his inquiries as to Pine Street that day with 
all possible haste, asked permission to occupy the pri- 
vate room, where he would not be disturbed for a while. 

Here he took out the copies of the pages of Mrs. 
Crewe’s diary, and began a careful and thoughtful read- 
ing of them. 

“ The suspicion takes form,” he said, laying the papers 
on the table and getting up from his seat. “ I am afraid 
to entertain it almost, for if it should — ” he stopped as 
if inspired by a new thought, and hastily bent over the 
papers, rapidly scanning each page, and finding one, con- 
centrated his mind upon it. 

“ By heavens ! ” he almost shouted, ‘‘ it must be. It 
cannot be anything else. I’ve got it. I’ve got it.” 

The paper fell out of his hand and fluttered to the 
desk. His agitation was so great that he trembled vio- 
lently. He attempted to walk, but his steps were uncer- 
tain. 

“ This will never do,” he said, as he drew a long 
breath. “ I must compose myself. I must think coolly. 
My head is whirling. But I must steady myself. As 
yet all is speculation — imagination. I must be cool. 
Dates must be compared — inquiries must be made — del- 
icately made.” 

He drew some paper before him and picked up a pen- 


INSPECTING THE DIARY, 


233 


cil to make some memoranda, but his hand shook so that 
he could not write. He threw the pencil down, saying : 

“ This will never do. I am on the edge of a great 
discovery. But I must be calm, Fll take a long walk 
to steady myself and accustom myself to the idea.” 

He went out hurriedly and rapidly walked the crowded 
streets to the Battery, where he thought he could exer- 
cise and think. Here after a while the boats attracted 
him, and as he was obtaining better control of himself, 
he conceived the idea of crossing to Staten Island and 
back. 

Acting upon the idea he entered the ferry, and secur- 
ing a seat where he was out of the hot sun, he sat him- 
self down to a persistent endeavor to compose himself. 
By the time he had reached the island, the first excite- 
ment was passed away. Disembarking he wandered into 
the cool streets of the village he had landed at, and applied 
himself to cool reflection. The more he examined the 
more convinced he was that he had hit upon a train of 
thought which must be exhausted. Such dates as he 
recalled touching upon the central idea seemed to fit in 
marvelously, and he determined upon his immediate 
course of action. Fired with new energy he determined 
to return to the city and begin work forthwith. 

As he passed on to the boat he encountered an old 
man who had been a fellow-clerk in Vivier, Longman 
and Company. He had not seen him for several years. 
He went up to him, saying : 

. I do not suppose you recollect me, Mr. Phillips ? ” 

The old man was puzzled, and evidently tried hard to 
recall him. 

“ You have forgotten the youngster you use to scold 
so hard, when he was a lad at Vivier, Longman and 
Company’s.” 


234 


VIVIER. 


“ Why, it’s Harry Molleson, is it not ? ” 

“ The same.” 

The old man was evidently delighted to see him, and 
making room beside him asked Molleson many questions 
as to his life and pursuits, which our friend dexterously 
parried. Finding the pursuit growing too close, he 
turned the tables by questioning the old clerk. His task 
was not difficult, for the old man was garrulous. 

“ Ah, Harry,” he said, “you made a mistake in leaving 
the old house. They take good care of their worn-out 
clerks. See how well they’ve treated me. I was with 
that house man and boy fifty years. I went there at 
eighteen, when it was Jacob Vivier and Co. I saw 
James come in as a boy, grow up and become a great 
man. When I grew old they gave me a nice house and 
lot on Staten Island, relieved me from duty, and contin- 
ued my salary for life. I am going up now to draw it. 
Lord, what a business man James is ! ” 

“ He has become a power in finance, Mr. Phillips,” 
said Molleson, encouraging the old man to talk. 

“ He is indeed. He is a greater man than his father 
was. He has built the house up from what it was when his 
father died. I used to think James was too venturesome, 
but he had a steady head.” 

“ The house was always strong, was it not ? ” 

“ Well, not what it is now ! ” said the old man. “ It 
was nip and tuck in 1871 whether the old house would 
go down or stand up.” 

“ Indeed,” said Molleson, “ I had not heard of that.” 

“ Yes, those were anxious days. There was a week 
when I didn’t sleep much. I tell you, Harry, when I 
forget that I’ll forget everything. Dear, dear. Day 
after day obligations came in and we had to meet them, 
while our receipts seemed to be lessening. One day, 


INSPECTING THE DIARY. 


235 


after we had realized on all our paper, had put up all 
our reserved securities as collateral and had borrowed 
all we could — everything out and nothing coming in— we 
got notification of a draft of $85,000 to be presented by 
twelve o’clock that day. Whew ! but that did set us on 
end. Not a cent of money, and credit at the lowest ebb, 
since we had been such persistent borrowers on the 
street. I went to James about it. He was sitting in his 
chair looking very glum. It was a quarter of nine 
o’clock. I asked him what we were going to do. ‘ Go 
under, I am afraid,’ he said. He was just as cool and 
determined as I am now. Then he said, ‘ Phillips, it 
will be hard to see the old house go down, won’t it ? 
Well, I’ll make one more try. Don’t open for business 
until the last minute, and delay all you can.’ He took 
his hat and went out. At five minutes of eleven he 
walked into the bank and hurried into his room. A 
moment after he came to my desk and laid down a 
bundle of notes. ‘ Phillips,’ he said, ‘ has the draft been 
presented ? No ? Well, here’s $90,000. We’re safe for 
to-day and I guess for good ; tliat $85,000 is the last big 
demand that can be made on us until the advances on 
bills of lading we’ve made are paid back.’ By George, 
Harry, my heart was in my mouth, and I trembled so I 
could hardly count the money. That was the last pull 
the house had. Seven ships came in the next two days, 
and advances were paid back. In three days we had all 
our reserve securities back again in the safe. The next 
year James got those bonds of that Pacific road to place, 
and the house has gone on to great wealth.” 

The boat was reaching the pier, and Molleson, who 
had been listening courteously to the old man was, how- 
ever, giving more attention to his own thoughts than 
to the words of Phillips. He bade him good-by and 


VIVIER, 


236 

hastened to the elevated station. He was anxious to 
reach home and obtain the dates, which, if they com- 
pared with those on the pages of Mrs. Crewe’s diary, 
would confirm the theory he had formed. He burst into 
his house in a manner to alarm his wife, and going to 
his desk took out some papers, making a hasty examina- 
tion. The dates corresponded. 

“ Well,” he cried, gleefully, “ if this is accident it is a 
curious coincidence, but it is no accident. By heaven ! ” 
he cried, jumping up in great excitement. “ Idiot ! 
Dolt ! Fool ! Ass ! ” 

“ For heaven’s sake, what is the matter ? ” cried Mrs. 
Molleson, who had just entered the room. 

“ The matter ? The matter is that you have got an 
idiot for a husband. I haven’t got brains enough to be 
trusted to go around the corner to buy a loaf of bread. 
I had it right in my grasp, and like a thundering ass let 
the opportunity slip. And I even don’t know where the 
gabbling old fool lives.” 

He threw his papers back into the desk and locked it. 

“ Harry, has anything gone wrong ? ” 

“ No, Bess, not wrong ; I have simply missed a great 
opportunity. If I move quickly I may regain it.” 

Catching his hat he hurried into the street and to the 
elevated station. An hour later he burst into the law- 
yer’s office in Nassau Street. 

“ Excuse me,” he said to the lawyer, who was engaged 
with a client. “ I have not a moment to lose. Send 
your detective to look up Daniel Phillips, an old clerk of 
Vivier, Longman & Co. — an old man, living at Clifton or 
near there. At all events, when he comes to the city he 
gets on the boat at Clifton. I want to know where he 
lives as soon as possible. Let there be no delay. It is 
important — vastly important.” 

He hurried out again. 


SUSPICIOUS COMPLIANCE. 


237 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

SUSPICIOUS COMPLIANCE. 

A lthough he had yielded to the return of Ines 
and the abandonment of the Molleson plan, and, 
although he fully appreciated that under the circum- 
stances he could do nothing else, without assuming a 
position of extreme selfishness and disregard for the 
well-being of his friend, yet Lysaght was unhappy, 
uneasy, and dissatisfied. He had, in fact, yielded against 
his better judgment under the press of circumstances he 
could neither shape nor control. He was not convinced 
that the course suggested by Mrs. Newton would work out 
to a successful or satisfactory conclusion ; he was not 
convinced that she possessed the power to achieve all she 
was so persistent in declaring she could. He did not 
repose the implicit faith in her the others did. His 
stumbling-block was the blind confidence she demanded. 
It was not in his nature to give such confidence. Con- 
fiding enough where he could see, or thought he could 
see, motives and reasons, he was one of those who de- 
manded a basis for all procedure. Naturally impatient 
he was inclined to help events along and shape them, 
rather than watch their development and take advant- 
ages as they presented themselves, to his own benefit. 
He had not learned the secret of prosperity and success, 
he could not wait. But of all those figuring in the drama 
in which he bore a conspicuous part, he was alone in his 
way of thinking. Debarred from seeing Ines, he became 
moody and irritable. While he had yielded to what he 
termed Mrs. Newton's “blind pool,” he determined he 
would, while it was in progress, avoid everybody con- 
nected with it. He recognized his irritability, and feared 


23S 


VI VIE R. 


that by frequent association with Ned he would display 
his temper. 

To avoid Ned was not difficult. The banker had 
demanded Ned’s daily attendance at the banking house, 
certain hours daily, and placing him beside Kirkham, 
who had charge of the elder Vivier’s private books, 
desired him to become familiar with his investments. 
What time was not thus employed, he spent with Ella. 
Here he was little interrupted. Ines had gone with Mrs. 
Humphrey and was occupying the old Vivier house. 
Mrs. Newton, since the consultation in which Lysaght 
had taken part, was continuously absent, returning at 
late hours, and departing at early ones. 

On the afternoon previous to the day fixed for the 
wedding by the banker, Mrs. Newton entered her home 
to find Ned there. She was more absorbed than usual, 
and her face wore an expression of care and determina- 
tion, not often finding a resting-place there. She said to 
Ned : 

“ I am glad you are here. If you had not been I 
should have sent for you. I want to know certain things. 
Has your father said anything further about the pro- 
posed marriage ?” 

“ Nothing more than to ask me this morning if I was 
prepared,” was Ned’s reply. 

“ And your answer was ? ” 

“ That I was ready.” 

“ That is well. What are his arrangements ? ” 

“ He proposes that the marriage shall take place at the 
old family residence ; other details I do not know. I 
called there with him last evening.” 

“ Did you see Ines ? ” 

“ Yes ; my father and Mrs. Humphrey left us for a 
long talk together alone.” ^ 


SUSPICIOUS COMPLIANCE. 


239 


“ Is Ines contented ? ” 

“Yes, she trusts you implicitly. She is somewhat 
anxious about Stan, believing that he is not in hearty 
sympathy with the movement. But she is brave and 
hopeful. She is carrying out her part of seeming 
acquiescence well, doing precisely what you instructed 
her.” 

“ Have you seen Mr. Lysaght, and is he contented ? ” 

“ 1 have not seen him since yesterday noon. He was 
then worried and anxious — fearing failure. I answered 
him then if he could not rely on you he could on me — 
that I would prevent the consummation of the marriage, 
even at so late a time as when we stood before the 
officiating clergyman.” 

Mrs. Newton was satisfied with this, apparently. She 
remained silent for many minutes, rolling and unrolling 
the ends of her bonnet strings in her absorption. At 
length she said : 

“ I am going away now. I am only waiting for Dick, 
for whom I have sent to come. He will go with me. I 
hope to be home this evening or in the night some time. 
It may be that I will not be able to return until to-mor- 
row morning. If I do not get back until then, give 
yourself no uneasiness. I am compelled to go out of 
town some distance. I may not be- able to complete my 
business in time to take the evening train in return. If 
I am not, then I shall take a very early one to the city 
to-morrow morning. I will surely be back in time. The 
hour set is one o’clock. Do not let the ceremony be 
begun before that hour, if I should not be present. 
Now heed me in this. I want you to see that I can 
obtain an entrance to the house, without opposition, at any 
time I choose to enter between ten and one. Can you — - 
will you attend to this ? ” 


240 


VIVIER 


Yes, I can and will,” replied Ned. “ I have already 
arranged to have my man in attendance at the door all 
the morning. I am determined to have Stan present, 
and so as to prevent possible mishaps my man will be 
there. He knows you, and there will be no difficulty.” 

“ The one I am afraid of is Mr. Lysaght,” said Mrs. 
Newton. “ He has no confidence in me. I am afraid he'- 
will by some means communicate with Ines and unsettle 
her trust. Will it not be possible for Ella to go to her, 
early to-morrow morning, and be beside her to keep her 
strong?” 

“ I don’t know how,” said Ned doubtfully. 

“ It was Ella who found her, you know,” urged Mrs. 
Newton, “and brought her here. You know I insisted 
on her return, and your father and Mrs. Humphrey know 
this. Ines became attached to Ella. I have thought it 
all over. What more natural than thgit she should desire 
to have a young friend about her at such a time? ” 

“True,” replied Ned, catching at the idea. “ I will 
see Ines this evening and make the suggestion that she 
ask for her, and I will, acting for her, bring Ella into the 
house.” 

“ If she is once there, Mrs. Humphrey will not turn her 
away. She professed to be very grateful to Ella and 
myself for our care of Ines,” concluded Mrs. Newton. 

“ It can be accomplished,” said Ned. 

“ One word more, Mr. Vivier. Possibly I may not see 
you again until we meet at the house. Try and have 
your father meet me there at eleven o’clock. That is to 
say, have him there on some pretext by eleven o’clock if 
possible. I want to avoid a scene if possible. Trust 
me. All will come right.” 

“ Is this journey of yours absolutely necessary,” asked 
Ned. 


SUSPICIOUS COMPLIANCE. 


241 


“ Yes, to the full success of all my plans. I could 
succeed so far as you and Ines are concerned without it, 
but there are others I must look after. If it were not 
for them I would not be compelled to ask so much trust 
from you — to leave you so much in the dark. The point 
of danger in my plans has been successfully passed.” 

Dick arriving at this time, Mrs. Newton hurried off, 
and was shortly after followed by Ned, who went to Ines 
to arrange for Ella’s entrance to her on the following 
morning. 

While this conversation between Mrs. Newton and Ned 
was going forward, Mr. Vivier was having one at his 
office with Mrs. Humphrey. 

She had entered to the banker saying : 

“ I have come in obedience to your instructions to see 
you to-day.” 

“ Ah, yes,” replied the banker, pushing the papers 
upon which he was at work aside, and facing his visitor 
as he swung around in his chair. What frame of mind 
is your charge in this afternoon ? ” 

“ Apparently complacent. She offers no objection to 
the marriage.” 

“ That is strange,” mused the banker. “ You say she 
objected strenuously when you first'broache<!ftt — indeed, 
ran away from it. What is the meaning of it ? ” 

“ Men say,” replied Mrs. Humphrey grimly, ‘‘ that it 
is the privilege of our sex to change our minds. Per- 
haps this is a case justifying the saying.” 

“ Does she agree to it? ” 

“ Apparently ; she offers no protest.” 

“ Does she thoroughly understand the ceremony is to 
take place to-morrow at one ? ” 

“ Yes, and simply replies ‘very w*ell.’ ” 

“ It is extraordinary. I cannot understand. Ned is 


242 


VJVIER. 


in the same compliant mood. It looks suspicious. Does 
she have any communication with this Lysaght ? ” 

“ No ; she manifests no desire to go out, makes no 
inquiries, shows no curiosity. She is more obedient than 
I ever knew her to be about anything. When I want a 
dress fitted she complies willingly, but manifests no 
interest in it.” 

The banker gathered his brows into deep wrinkles as 
he tried to find reasons for this singular conduct. 

“ She made no objections to go with you when you 
found her ? ” 

“ None whatever. Got ready to go with me at once.” 

“ Has she ever explained her escapade ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Have you never asked her for an explanation ? ” 

“ No ; you told me to treat her as if it had not 
occurfed.” 

True ; it was the best way to treat her. Have you 
no theory as to her remarkable conduct ? ” 

“Yes; I think something has occurred between 
Lysaght and herself since she reached New York.- I think 
Lysaght has offered her some indignity against which 
she has rebelled ; that, disillusionized, she has cast him 
out of her'^mind, and pride prevents her from giving the 
reason for her desire to return to me ; that despairing, 
her pride and honor touched, she marries your son 
through pique and disappointment — a high-spirited and 
reckless obstinacy.” 

The eye of the banker sparkled; the proud spirit 
attributed to the girl fitted in so well to his own that the 
description pleased him. 

“ She is a trump,” he said, heartily. “ Well, I care 
not for the reason, so long as she marries Ned ; and now 
it appears as if nothing could prevent it. On the whole, 


MOLLESON IS SHOCKED, 


243 


matters are progressing well. I will be at the house 
during the morning ; have everything ready.” 

Mrs. Humphre)^ took the concluding sentence for a 
dismissal, and left the banker to his work. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

MOLLESON IS SHOCKED. 

W HEN Molleson left the laywer’s office after his 
hurried journey from One Hundred and Twenty- 
fifth Street, it occurred to him that he had eaten nothing 
all day. So he regaled himself at a neighboring restau- 
rant. While thus engaged he concluded he would 
immediately call upon Rose Geranium, and then he would 
have everything cleared up but his visit to Phillips, for 
whose address he was waiting. He did not expect much 
to result from the visit, yet he had hoped for little from 
an inspection of Mrs. Crewe’s diary and a great deal had 
come from that. At all events, he would know whether 
Mr. Vivier was following up the line of movement in 
which he had been detected. 

Finishing his meal, he went without delay to Rose’s 
residence in Thirtieth Street. His heart sank within him 
unaccountably when he reached it. It had the unmistak- 
able air of being closed. He took courage again when 
he reflected that she was in all probability at Long Branch, 
where he last saw her. He hastily ascended the steps 
and rang the bell. He rang it in fact several times, and 
receiving no response was about to descend, when he 
heard a voice from the area below. 

Leaning over the railing, he saw a colored woman, 

“ I want to see Miss Geranium,” he said, 


VIVIER. 


244 

“ She aint dar,” was the reply. ‘‘ De house is close, it 
is. Miss Rose dun gone to Yurrup, she is.” 

“What!” cried Molleson, in consternation. “To 
Europe ? When, for Heaven’s sake ? ” 

“ She haint jes dun gone,” replied the sable attendant. 
“ But she lef de house, she did. De ship he sail to-morrow 
mawning a seben, he does. An’ Mis’ Rose, she go to a 
hotel fer de night. Den she go abroad in the mawnin’.” 

Molleson, bewildered and greatly alarmed, asked at 
what hotel her mistress was stopping, but the servant 
was unable to inform him. A thousand possibilities 
crossed his mind as by a flash, as he slowly descended 
the stairs. 

“ This is Vivier’s doing,” he said as he stepped on the 
pavement and stood for a moment to consider. “ Yes, 
by Jove ! I see his whole game. He has induced that 
minister to go to Europe, and now the girl. Smart trick. 
Smart trick. It is all on Vivier’s money. Both out of 
the way, and he has, or he thinks he has, me at his mercy. 
That certificate was a bluff to keep me quiet until he 
could work this thing. So much for having all the money 
you want. He has overreached me.” 

He walked along in the direction of Third Avenue, 
feeling as if he had sustained a crushing defeat. Sud- 
denly he stopped in his walk. 

“ She sails to-morrow morning, eh. It is not too late 
yet. By what vessel does she sail ? I’ll find that out. 
I’ll upset his apple-cart yet, maybe. I’m beat on the 
ground of profit and protection, but not on revenge. I’ll 
make him pay dearly for this triumph, if triumph it is.” 

He faced about and hurried to Broadway, where, at 
one of the uptown agencies, he informed himself that 
two vessels sailed at the same hour. There was nothing 
for it but to go to the office of ^ach line, and inspect the 


MOLLESON IS SHOCKED, 245 

passenger lists of each, and so, calling a cab, he drove 
down to lower Broadway. 

His search was rewarded. He found by what line and 
what ship Rose was to go, and the further information 
that Egbert Sturdevant traveled by the same ship. 

He laughed to himself approvingly as he left the office. 

“ My instinct was true. I intuitively felt when I saw 
Sturdevant come from the banking house that he was on 
some business that touched me. It is through this fellow 
that Vivier has worked the move. It hasn’t cost him a 
small penny either, that is one consolation. I think I 
shall have to be one of the party to see the fair enslaver 
off on her journey.” 

He entered his cab and was driven up Broadway. As 
he reached the City Hall, he saw by the clock that it was 
nearly eight o’clock. 

“To get down from One Hundred and Twenty-fifth 
Street by half-past six in the morning will be a rather 
arduous undertaking,” ’he said aloud. “ I think I will 
excite the jealousies of the charming Mrs. Molleson by 
informing her that I wil'l not be home to-night, and will 
take a bed at the Metropolitan, where I will be within 
easy reach of the steamer.” 

This he did, and as he was tired with his labors of the 
day, and as he had to rise early in the morning, he retired 
to his room at once, desiring to be called at half-past five, 
and that a cab be in readiness to take him to the steamer. 

“ There are lots of them,” said the clerk to his associ- 
ate, as he turned from attending to Molleson’s wants. 
“ There’s another going to the steamer in the morning.” 

Had Molleson but taken the precaution to examine 
the register, his course of action would have been mate- 
rially changed, and so would the course of this story. 
Rose Geranium slept under the same roof that night. 


246 


VIVIER. 


By six o’clock the following morning, Molleson was on 
the deck of the steamer. A careful examination assured 
him that the party he was awaiting had not yet arrived. 
He took a position where, unobserved, he could com- 
mand a view of the gang plank. 

He had fully determined to reveal to Rose her rights 
as the wife of James Vivier. He had carefully consid- 
ered the situation. He thought that the banker had 
intrigued to get her away from his influence, believing 
he would not tell Rose so long as silence was more pro- 
ductive of money than disclosure ; that once abroad, 
where he could not interfere, the banker would follow 
her up with a trusty agent who would compose the 
matter in such a manner that the banker would be 
entirely free and secure. Perhaps this Sturdevant was 
the very agent. In order to do this, the banker could 
afford to spend a quarter of a million — a half a million 
if needs be. He was rich enough to do it. Therefore, 
there seemed no other course for him to pursue but to 
disclose the secret to Rose and induce her to forego her 
journey to Europe at the last moment. 

While he waited he saw a private coup^, drawn by a 
single horse, come down the wharf. It drew up on one 
side, opposite the gang plank, but the occupant or occu- 
pants made no effort to alight. Presently he saw a 
policeman speak to the driver, ordering him to drive on 
apparently. The head of a young man protruded, evi- 
dently in protest. At this moment he saw the agent of 
the line go forward, remove his hat respectfully to some 
one in the cab, then speak a word to the policeman. 
The group fell back, and the coupe remained where it was. 

“ Some nabob, that,” said Molleson to himself. “ Not 
subject to the orders of so great a man as a policeman. 
I think ni wander down and take a peep.” 


MOLLESON IS SHOCKED. 247 

He had hardly touched foot upon the wharf when he 
discovered that the “ nabob ” was Mr. Vivien He 
hastily darted on one side, behind a pile of boxes, fer- 
vently hoping he had not been observed, as he remarked 
to himself that now there could be no doubt but that 
Vivier was at the bottom of this hurried journey to 
Europe. 

The young man who was with Vivier got out of the 
coupe, and for an instant Molleson thought he was com- 
ing to him, but he stood still near the coupe watching the 
carriages as they drove up and discharged their loads at 
the gang-plank. 

In a few moments a closed carriage arrived, and as 
it approached, the young man signalled to the driver, 
who reined up, and stepping to the window spoke to 
the occupants. Molleson, anxious to know who they 
were, was compelled to step out of his concealment at 
some risk of exposure. 

Sturdevant and Rose were inside. 

After a word from the young man the driver of Rose’s 
carriage drove on some distance beyond the gang-plank. 
The young man nodded to Vivier’s driver, and he quickly 
followed the other carriage. The young man remained 
behind opposite the gang-plank. 

Molleson, anxious to know the meaning of this move- 
ment, stepped out and, leisurely sauntering about, as if 
aimlessly, managed to get so near the two carriages as to 
observe the movements of their occupants. 

Sturdevant, descending from his own, went to the door, 
of Vivier’s coupe — Molleson saw Vivier hand the young 
man several papers, which Molleson shrewdly surmised 
from their appearance to be the letters of credit — saw 
the young man deferential and elated, the banker com- 
mendatory and smiling. 


248 


VIVIER. 


“That settles it,” said Molleson to himself. “ I must 
slip back and have an interview with the charming Rose 
when she comes aboard.” 

As he hurried back, he was made uneasy by perceiving 
that the young man who had accompanied the banker 
was closely observing him. He ran up the gang-plank 
and took a position near it. In a moment more Rose, 
accompanied by Sturdevant, tripped up. • 

He stepped out in full view. 

“ Oh, Harry,” cried the girl, “ are you crossing too ? ” 

“ No,” he replied, “ I am here to see you off. Is not 
your trip a very sudden determination ? ” 

“ Yes, very. How did you find it out ? ” 

“I called at your house last evening and was told by 
an intense brunette that you would sail this morning.” 

The girl laughed. 

“Yes, it is a very sudden trip. Two days ago Mr. 
Sturdevant said, ‘ Come for a trip to Europe ’ ? ‘ When ? ’ 
I asked. ‘ Thursday,’ said he. ‘ Very well,’ said I, and 
here we are.” 

“ And Mr. Vivier bearing the expenses ? ” 

“ How do you know that ?” asked ' the girl in great 
surprise. 

“ I guessed it. Why ? ” 

“ Mr. Sturdevant has a mission in Europe for Mr. 
Vivier — something awfully important, and he invited me 
to go with him.” 

Sturdevant had stepped away for a few moments to lay 
aside the wraps and satchels he carried. 

“ Rose — Carrie,” said Molleson bending his eyes earn- 
estly upon the girl and speaking in the most impressive 
tones. “ You are being fooled by both Vivier and Sturde- 
vant. The mission Sturdevant has is persuading you to 
go to Europe.” 


NOLLESON IS SHOCKED. 249 

Me ? ” cried the girl, incredulously. “Why do they- 
want me in Europe ? ” 

“ I will tell you. The time is brief, and listen atten- 
tively. You must not go — ” 

At this moment a large man rushed up the gang-plank, 
shouting : 

“ Where is the captain ? Where is the agent of the 
line ? Quick ! Quick ! ” 

The agent, who was near by, stepped up, asking what 
was the matter. 

“ Great matter, sir. This ship must not leave the 
wharf until I give instructions. Do you hear ? ” 

The captain, who had come at the outcry, which had 
in fact excited every one’s attention, not knowing who it 
was who was issuing orders so arrogantly concerning his 
ship, said, as Vivier was moving off : 

“ I command this ship, and she’ll leave when I order 
it.” 

Mr. Vivier turned upon him, his face black with 
wrath, and said : • 

“ Then, by Heaven, you’ll never command another. 
You obey my orders.” 

The agent hurried the captain aside, while Mr. Vivier 
rushed to Rose and Molleson and Sturdevant, who had 
just come from the cabin. 

“ You^go ashore,” he thundered to Molleson. 

“ There is no hurry,” replied Molleson, coolly and 
politely. “ I have just heard you issue an order to delay 
the ship.” 

The banker was in a towering passion, and his passion 
was formidable, indeed. 

“ By Heaven, I’ll throw you ashore,” he cried, making 
a rush at Molleson. 

Molleson stepped aside to avoid the rush, and then, 


VI VIES. 


250 

very pale and evidently intensely excited, he replied, his 
voice trembling with suppressed anger, facing the 
banker : 

“ I wish you would lay your hands upon me. I want 
an excuse for killing you.” 

Rose screamed at the word, and there was a rushing 
of passengers to her. 

Vivier was the first to see that the scene he was mak- 
ing would brew a scandal, and by supreme effort he mas- 
tered himself. 

“ Here,” he said, brusquely, “ we will settle this in a 
moment. Where is your state-room ? ” turning to Rose. 
“Take this man and myself to it. Sturdevant, you stay 
here.” 

The impetuosity of his energy carried everything 
before it, and Rose meekly obeyed, Sturdevant remaining, 
bewildered, believing Molleson to be the man the banker 
had vaguely alluded to as the one he was desiring of 
securing from Rose’s influence. 

Rose, trembling in every limb, led the way. When 
they had crowded into her room, Vivier closed the door 
and sternly demanded : 

“ What has this man told you ? ” 

“ Nothing,” replied Rose, faltering through fright. 

“ I had not the time,” said Molleson, smiling, out- 
wardly placid. “ You interrupted me — rudely, I may 
add. I will tell her now.” 

“ I’ll tell her myself,” said the banker, shortly. 

“ No, it is my tale. It is impolite to tell another’s 
story. ^Rose, you are Mrs, ” 

“ Stop,” thundered the banker. 

“ James Vivier ” 

“ Silence, you villain,” shouted the banker, stepping 
forward toward Molleson with uplifted hand. 


MOLLESON IS SHOCKED, 


2 $! 

Molleson drew his hand from his breast where he had 
been concealing it, and with it a pistol, which he pointed 
threateningly at the banker’s head. 

“ — You are that man’s wife,” he concluded. 

“1?” cried Rose, between a shriek and a gasp. 

The banker, glaring at Molleson, said : 

“ Listen to me. In a moment of weakness and fool- 
ishness, you and I engaged in the farce of playing at 
being married. Neither of us intended it seriously. 
You knew I was already married, and therefore could 
not enter into another marriage contract. Now, this 
man, who was present, pretends — I say, pretends-i-” he 
repeated, as he saw Molleson sneer, “ that the man who 
played at performing the ceremony was a regularly 
ordained minister — ” 

“ You sent him abroad all the same, as you are send-, 
ing Rose here,” interrupted Molleson. 

“ — He also pretends,” continued Mr. Vivier, not 
heeding the interruption, “ that my wife died an hour or 
two before the performance of that farcical ceremony. 
In other words, that I was a widower and that we 
were legally wed. That is what he is here for now. 
He desires to injure me. - You have the whole 
of it.” 

Molleson stood aghast at the candor and frankness of 
the man. 

“Is that all?” said Rose, wonderingly, who was still 
trembling from her fright. 

“Is that all?” she repeated. ^‘Have you been mak- 
ing all that fuss about that ? Is that what you .sent that 
paper to me for ? How can men be so silly ! Do you 
think I would claim you as a husband by reason of that 
foolish thing ? ” 

She had recovered her composure when she could 


252 


VIVIER. 


use her tongue. She turned reproachfully upon 
Vivier ; I have given you no reason to think so ill of 
me. Do you think I would take so mean an advan- 
tage?” she said, turning to Molleson. “You insult me. 
Have no fear, I will give you no trouble on that score, 
Mr. Vivier. I want no husband as yet. When I do 
I will marry him with my eyes wide open.” 

Molleson turned livid on hearing this. 

“ You are an idiot.” 

“ Perhaps, but reckless as I may be, I would not do 
such a thing as to claim a husband who did not want 
me.” 

“ Will you write what you say,” cried Vivier jubi- 
lantly ; “ not because I am afraid of you, but as a guar- 
antee against this rascal.” 

“Willingly,” answered the girl, pulling off her gloves. 

The banker opened the door and called a steward to 
bring paper and ink immediately. 

“You are an honest creature,” he said, “and lean 
assure you you have lost nothing by this honorable 
conduct. It is remarkably at variance with that of this 
scoundrel.” 

Molleson, crushed and stupefied over the manner in 
which the girl was throwing away her golden opportuni- 
ties, was oblivious to the abuse of Vivier, 

The steward having brought the writing materials, 
Rose leaned over the berth and wrote : 

“ I never was married to any one, 
much less to Mr. Vivier. The farce 
of a ceremony in a University Place 
restaurant — ” 

“When did that occur, Mr. Vivier, — that farce?” she 
asked. 

“ In January, 1876 ” replied the banker. 


MOLLESON IS SHOCKED. 


253 


— “ on a certain 

night in January, 1876, was mere 
play, not in earnest and not intended 
either by Mr. Vivier or myself. I do 
iTot now, have never, and will 
never claim James Vivier as my 
husband by reason of that farce. 

“ Carrie Upshaw, 

“ Otherwise known as Rose Geranium. 

“ Steamship Servia, July 20th, 1887, 

“ New York, before leaving.” 

She handed it to Mr. Vivier, who gallantly kissed her 
hand, saying : 

“ Perhaps I am making a great mistake in not claim- 
ing what you give up so readily ? ” 

“ Poh,” she said as she drew on her gloves again. “ I 
would not give up my liberty for the best man. But 
gracious, how easily it is settled ! A moment ago you 
were going to kill each other. And what a fuss you did 
, make ! I shall be the heroine of the voyage. I must 
invent a story. Let me see, what shall it be. Harry was 
wanting to prevent me going with my own true love, and 
was about to bear me off ; brave man Vivier rushed in, 
‘ Vaunt, you villain ! go your way to peace and pleasure, 
me cheyild.’ That shall be it.” 

At this moment the agent of the line rapped at the 
door. 

Vivier opened it. 

“ I hope, Mr. Vivier, there will be no more delay than 
is necessary. It is within two minutes of sailing time.” 

“ There will be none,” replied Vivier. “ Step in, I 
want you to witness a signature. Miss Upshaw, you 
acknowledge this to be your signature ?” 

“ I do,” replied the girl. 

The agent signed. As he did so he noticed the 


^54 


• VIVIEJ^. 


peculiar signature and looked at Rose in surprise. He 
knew her reputation, and wondered what the distinguished 
and powerful banker could have to do with her. 

“ I wish you a happy and prosperous voyage,” said 
Vivier, as he prepared to leave. 

Molleson, crushed, defeated, and humiliated, stepped 
out. Vivier lingered a moment to say to Rose, “ If funds 
give out, send to me.” 

As he followed Molleson up the companionway he 
met Sturdevant : 

“ God bless you, my boy. Have a good time. Good- 
by.” 

He was in high good-humor and very jubilant. 

Molleson went on through the crowd, which observed 
him closely, curious to know what the scene was all about. 
He descended the gang-plank with hanging head, and 
walked up the wharf, forgetting his cabman who waited 
for him. As he did so he observed the young man who, 
he was satisfied, had informed Vivier of his presence, and 
he scowled at him. The young man was standing beside 
the banker’s carriage. 

He turned ; the banker was following ; halting, he 
waited for him to come up. As he did so he said ; 

“ You think you have won the trick?” 

“ I have. When you encounter me, you close in with 
a man who knows how to wrest victory from defeat.” 
He was in very high good humor. 

“ Perhaps,” said Molleson, with lowering brow. “ Now 
that you have unhorsed me, I presume you propose to 
punish me.” 

“ Your suppositions are perfectly correct,” returned 
the banker. “ I propose to land you in jail.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Molleson again. “ But when you do, 
you will go with me. You think I have played my two 


THE ODD TRICK. 255 

bowers, don’t you ? In euchre nowadays there is a little 
joker ; I hold it.” 

The banker looked at him, puzzled. 

Molleson stepped up to him and in a low voice said : 

“ Leila Carman still lives. She has kept a diary. 
Ines Alloway is the daughter of Stanley Lysaght. Now 
chew on that, when you think of putting me in jail.” 

“ Curse him ! ” muttered the banker as he watched 
Molleson disappear among the carriages thronging the 
wharf. “ I thought I had him down for good. What 
does he know now ? It is to be a long fight apparently. 
I’ll put him under the ground yet, if it takes all my 
remaining years.” 

He entered his coupe and was driven off. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE ODD TRICK. 

T he emotions by which Molleson was swayed when 
he turned from Vivier were conflicting. His mood 
was one even so brave a man as the banker might have 
feared. An intense desire for vengeance possessed him. 
Heretofore he had been animated only by two purposes — 
one to extract money, the other to protect himself. Now 
a deep-seated longing for revenge was added. He had 
been so completely crushed and so thoroughly humiliated, 
that all other purposes became subordinate to this passion. 
His bitterness also went out to the girl whose astonishing 
improvidence, as he regarded it, made the banker’s 
triumph so conclusive. The only satisfaction he had, 
which in any degree mitigated the defeat, was at the end, 
when he had quite evidently alarmed the banker. The 
trouble was, however, that it was false pretense. He 


256 


VIVIER. 


knew nothing he could hold over the banker. That there 
was something there he could see, but unless he could 
discover exactly what, it was of no value to him. 

The banker was really more disturbed than he had 
shown. That Molleson should know that Ines Alloway 
was a daughter of the inventor, was a complete surprise. 
How much more did he know ? It also greatly annoyed 
him to hear the name of Leila Carman at that particular 
time. And her diary? To what did Molleson’s allusion 
to that portend ? These things so mitigated his feeling 
of triumph over the Rose Geranium episode, that Molle- 
son’s spirits would have risen high could he have 
known it. 

Leaning back in his coupe he closed his eyes, mutter- 
ing. 

“Are all my old follies to arise to complicate the 
present situation ? I thought after the disposition of the 
Upshaw girl I would only have the other affair to deal 
with. Is the Carman woman to enter for further trouble ? 
However, at one to-day I will control the other situation, 
and then I will meet what comes.” 

The banker was driven to lower Delmonico’s for break- 
fast, with his confidential clerk, and from thence to his 
office. For the second time within ten days he reached 
there before the clerks, and was admitted by the janitor, 
causing that functionary to remark that if “ the old 
fellow was taking to such early hours, he was glad he was 
going out of the firm.” 

Shortly after the cashier entered he went to the 
banker. 

“ A very queer question was asked me yesterday after- 
noon, Mr. Vivier, and by a reputable lawyer.” 

“ Lawyers do put some queer questions sometimes, my 
boy,” replied the banker carelessly. “ What was it ? ” 


THE ODD TRICK. 


257 


It related to a matter occurring many years ago. 
He wanted to know if Stanley Lysaght, inventor, had on 
the 19th of June, 1871, made a deposit here?” 

The banker turned slowly in his chair, facing the 
cashier, and asked: 

“ What was your answer ? ” 

“ I told him that I did not think so, because Lysaght 
had never had an account here, — principally because I 
imagined he had no money.” 

The banker regarded the cashier steadily, as he asked : 

“ Did that satisfy him ? ” 

“ No. And so to settle him I brought out the books 
of that year and showed him the deposits of that day. It 
happened there were not many.” 

“Ah! Don’t you know it is against the rules of the 
house to show the books? ” demanded the banker, angrily. 

“ Yes, as to recent events ; this was sixteen years ago.” 

“ What did you show him ? All the transactions of the 
day?" 

“ No, only the deposits.” 

“ Was he satisfied then ? ” 

“ He seemed to be ; he went away without further 
question.” 

The conversation ended, and the banker, with a hard, 
set, and determined expression on his face turned to his 
desk muttering ; 

“You are piling up the debts for me to pay very 
rapidly, Mr. Molleson.” 

While this was going forward in the banker’s office, 
Molleson had called upon his lawyer and found the de- 
tective waiting to make his report as to the residence of 
Phillips. Molleson, taking the address, set out to Clifton, 
where the old clerk lived, accompanied by the detective. 

On his way thither Molleson recalled that when he 


258 


VIVIER. 


knew Phillips intimately, he had been a trained and 
shrewd man, and he feared that any direct question might 
arouse the suspicions of the ex-clerk, as old as he was. 
As he walked the street where Phillips’s house was, he 
strove to devise some ingenious method of setting the old 
man’s tongue running again. 

Fortunately for him, he found the old man at his front 
door, smoking his pipe and reading his morning paper. 
Assuming the manner of one who was sauntering by, he 
called out ; 

“Ah, Phillips, is this where you are domiciled ?” 

“ What, you again, Harry ? Come in and take a rest.” 

“ It is early in the day to talk about resting, isn’t it ? ” 
replied Molleson with a laugh. “ Your place is tempting 
enough for any excuse, however.” 

“ Come in and look at it,” urged the old man. 

Molleson took out his watch, doubtfully, and said : 

“I can miss one boat and stilLbe in time. I’ll come in 
and smoke my morning cigar with you.” 

The old man was delighted to entertain him, and 
talked of his trees and flowers and garden and hause — in 
fact, everything except that on which Molleson most de- 
sired. At length, seizing an opportunity to check the 
garrulity of the old man, Molleson said ; 

“ And so Vivier, Longman and Company gave you all 
this? ” 

“ Yes, in recognition of my long service to the house.” 

“ It was not more than you deserved, for you were a 
most valuable and faithful aid for many years. I was 
much interested in your story of the short corner the 
house turned some years ago — the one you told me 
yesterday.” 

“ Ah, yes. That was the time to turn men’s hair gray. 
I tremble almost now when I think of it. They were 


THE ODD TRICK. 259 

days of great anxiety. Thank God, they are passed for- 
ever now! The house is too strong.” 

“ When was it, you say ? ” 

“ In June, 1871 ; it lasted a whole week.” 

“ What day did it end on, you say ? ” asked Molleson, 
as indifferently as he could. 

On the 19th of June ; how well I recollect it ! ” 

Molleson could hardly repress a start, but he kept his 
face well. 

“ Ah,” he said, “ I recollect the day for another reason. 
That was the day Stanley Lysaght, the inventor, died so 
suddenly.” 

“ Was it, indeed,” said the old man. “ I knew him 
well. He was a great friend of James’s. He frequently 
came in to see him.” 

“ Was he,” said Molleson, his breath growing quicker. 
“ Was he in that day ?” 

“ I am sure I don’t. know. I have no recollection of 
it.” 

“ Where do you suppose Vivier got that large sum of 
money, just in the nick of time ?” 

‘‘ He never told any one. He simply said that it was 
a loan he had obtained personally. He did not take it 
back for a long time, and then only in installments of 
$10,000.” 

“ Well, Mr. Phillips,” said Molleson, rising, “ it is 
delightful here, talking over old times with you, but I 
have appointments to meet in New York, and must go.” 

He bade the old man good-by and hurried away. At 
the landing he found the detective awaiting him, whom 
he called, and went aboard. Molleson was serious and 
thoughtful, perhaps somewhat elated. 

He continued thoughtful during the passage, occa- 
sionally muttering to himself. The detective, perceiving 


26 o 


VIVIER. 


him to be so much absorbed, did not obtrude himself. 
The rattling of the chains and whirling of the wheels on 
the ferry bridge notified Molleson that the boat was 
entering the slip. He roused himself, saying aloud : 

“ It is a mighty undertaking and must be done with 
skill. A single false step would ruin all.” 

He went forward, closely followed by the detective, 
and crowding among those who were waiting to leap as 
soon as the boat touched the ferry bridge. He jumped 
with the rest and gained the street. 

He halted a moment and said : 

“ It fits like a Chinese puzzle.” 

Taking out his watch, he saw that it was nearly eleven 
o’clock. He started with fear. 

“ Is it so late,” he cried. “ Yet, if I hurry I may catch 
him. Come on quick,” he cried to the detective. If 
he is not there I’ll go to the old house.” 

He fairly flew up Whitehall Street to Pearl and down 
Pearl to Wall, and thence to the banking house of Vivier, 
Longman & Company, the detective with difficulty keep- 
ing close at his heels. 

Reaching the door he said to the detective ; 

“ Wait here for me. I may not be a minute and I may 
be an hour. But wait for me.” 

He threw open the door vigorously, and in doing so 
nearly threw it against the banker, who was going out : 

“ You ! ” cried the banker angrily. “ What do you 
want here ? Haven’t you had enough of me yet ? ” 

“ It seems not,” replied Molleson, panting from his 
rapid run. “ I have something to say to you that must 
be said now.” 

“ I have no time,” retorted the banker. “ And I have 
wasted all the time I ever will on you again.” 

‘‘ You must listen to me,” said Molleson desperately. 


THE ODD TRICK. 


261 


Pouf ! ” laughed the banker, as he moved toward the 
door. 

Molleson caught him by the arm and in a low voice, 
trembling with intensity, not fear, said : 

“ Don’t force me to have you arrested. But by 
Heaven ! if you attempt to go before listening to me, 
you will reach the pavement below a prisoner. An 
officer is at the door.” 

“You d — d scoundrel, what do you mean?” passion- 
ately demanded the banker. 

“No hard names,” warned Molleson. “You thought 
you were on top this morning ; I am now. I have no 
desire to arrest you, but if you will not listen to me, I 
will. Choose, whether you will have the publicity of 
arrest and the consequent scandal, or listen to me.” 

The baiiker saw that arrest would make a scandal, but 
still more important, would delay the marriage he was 
so anxious to force. He controlled himself. 

“ I will listen rather than have the annoyance of an 
arrest, harmless as it must be. But be brief, my son is 
to be married this morning.” 

“ No, at one o’clock, — you have plenty of time.” 

The banker, astonished that Molleson should be so 
accurately informed, led the way into his office. Molle- 
son followed and closed the door after him. Drawing a 
chair, he sat down, saying : 

“ I will be brief. Listen to me without interruption. 
On the i8th day of June, 1871, Stanley Lysaght received 
$100,000 in bills for the sale of certain patent rights to 
the Empire Mining Supplies Company.” 

“ That is an old story,” sneered the banker. 

“ Perhaps, but no interruptions,” said Molleson. “ Re- 
ceiving that money he went with it in his pocket to a law- 
yer, named Moore, and made an appointment for the 


262 


VIVIER. 


2ist of June, and to whom he told that he desired to 
place that sum in trust for his daughter, one of the 
trustees to be James Vivier the banker, his friend, whom 
he trusted and respected as the world did.” 

At the mention of his name, the banker started up in 
his chair and looked keenly at Molleson. 

“ At the suggestion of the lawyer, he went to Cannon- 
by’s of Wall Street, to inquire as to certain securities 
advised by the lawyer as good investments, and wanted 
to deposit the sum there over night, which was refused, 
as being too large a sum for them to be responsible for. 
Going out he called a cabman, one Dennis Burke, by 
whom he was driven to a stationery store in Nassau 
Street where he purchased a tin box in which he put the 
money, and was then driven to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, 
where he put the box and its contents over night in the 
hotel safe.” 

The banker was evidently deeply interested. 

“ The next morning, that is to say the 19th of June, 
1871, he took the box and its contents from the hotel 
safe and was driven by the same cabman to Pine Street, 
where at fifteen minutes of eleven* o’clock he was seen 
standing in front of No. 3 Pine Street, with the tin box 
Jn his hartd. At eleven o’clock, or five minutes there- 
after, he entered a building in Nassau Street near Lib- 
erty, not having the box, for he had placed it somewhere 
for safe-keeping in the mean time. He went up into the 
office of a Mr. MacDiarmid, where he stayed until he 
went out to Broadway to take the stage, in which he 
died between two and three o’clock in the afternoon.” 

“You would make a good detective,” sneered the 
banker. “ But as interesting as are these details, I do 
not forget that you are subjecting me to delay.” 

“ They will become more interesting presently,” said 


THE ODD TRICK. 


263 


Molleson. “ A lawyer named Harper appears on the 
scene, proposing to Mr. Henry Molleson, at whose house 
the dead inventor is lying, to pay the funeral expenses, 
saying that he is acting for business associates of the dead 
Lysaght — ‘ business associates ’ being the term used by 
Mr. James Vivier for himself, who modestly hides his 
deeds of charity that way. Again, after the funeral, 
appears the lawyer, to take the orphaned daughter, again 
acting for business associates, alias James Vivier, and 
transfers the little daughter to the care of a charming 
widow, Mrs. Leila Carman, who tires of the charge shortly 
and desires to be relieved. The child is transferred by 
the same lawyer, acting for business associates, alias 
James Vivier, and finally turns up in the care of Mrs. 
Imogen Humphrey, in Rensselaer county, the child’s 
name now being Ines Alloway. ” 

The banker sits upright in his chair, his eyes flaming 
and concentrated dangerously on Molleson. 

“ Now to go back a short distance. The week in which 
the inventor died was a critical one for the banking house 
of Vivier, Longman and Company. It came near failing. 
Advances on bills of lading having used up all available 
funds, unexpected demands and drafts are made; all col- 
laterals have been used; all moneys have been borrowed 
that could be — so much so that the credit of the house is 
almost gone. On the 19th of June — the 19th, remember — 
when the head of the house enters, he is told by his cash- 
ier that there. is notice of a draft for $85,000 to be pres- 
ented by twelve o’clock. Consternation is the result, and 
failure is expected. The head of the house goes out for 
one more effort to save the toppling firm. A few min- 
utes before eleven o’clock Mr. James Vivier returns bear- 
ing a tin box in his hand, and hurriedly enters his office. 
A moment later he appears at the cashier’s desk laying 
$90,000 in bills before him. The house is saved. ” 


264 


VIVIER. 


“ Well, ” sternly demanded the banker. 

“ An inquisitive friend of the head of the house of 
Vivier, Longman and Company, after a lapse of sixteen 
years, discovers that the daughter — Ines Alloway — is 
cared for by Mrs. Humphrey in Rensselaer county, her 
expenses being borne by Mr. Vivier ; that she has never 
heard of that fortune of $100,000; that none of her friends 
or relatives knew of the whereabouts of the girl or of her 
fortune; that Mr. James Vivier, against the will and 
wishes of everybody concerned, is forcing a marriage 
between Mary Lysaght, Ines Alloway, whose fortune 
so mysteriously disappeared oh the day the house of 
Vivier, Longman and Company was so miraculously saved 
from ruin, the 19th of June, 1871. ” 

“ Well, ” repeated the banker, upright and stern. 

“ The tin box Lysaght bought to put his $100,000 in, 
was the box Mr. James Vivier carried into the bank a few 
moments before eleven o’clock on the 19th of June.” 

‘‘ Well, ” repeated the banker. 

“ The interest and compound interest on one hundred 
thousand dollars at six per cent, for sixteen years is very 
considerably more than $200,000. ” 

“ Well? ” 

“ I should like to borrow a sum equal to the interest 
and compound interest on the inventor’s fortune; col- 
lateral,, silence. ” 

“ That is a large transaction, my friend,” said the 
banker rising. “ There is need of time for consideration. 
It is now within a few moments of twelve o’clock. Your 
interesting tale has delayed me an hour beyond an 
engagement I had made. My son and Miss Ines Alloway 
are to marry at one. I have, therefore, not the time to 
talk to you now. We will renew the conversation this 
afternoon, and, as no time may be lost, I will ask you to 


THE ODD TRICK, 265 

accompany me to this wedding ; my carriage is at the 
door, we can drive there at once.” 

Molleson at first was alarmed at the manner in which 
the banker had received his communications, but he 
plucked up courage over the fact that the banker did not 
seek to evade him, and proposed to renew the conversa- 
tion after the proposed ceremony. He also quickly 
recalled the fact that Mrs. Newton was to prevent the 
marriage, and he felt that under such circumstances the 
banker would be quite as placable then as he would be 
before. 

“Come, we must go,” said the banker. As they 
entered the banking-room a young man stood near the 
door, leaning against a desk. 

“ Come, Wheeler,” said the banker, “ I am ready now.” 

The young man picked up two parcels lying on the 
desk beside him, and followed : 

At the door Molleson saw the detective, and whispered 
as he passed : 

“I’ll have no further use for you to-day.” 

The three entered the carriage and were driven off. 
No conversation was indulged in as they passed along 
the crowded and busy streets. 

As he leaned against the soft cushions, Molleson said 
to himself : 

“ I’ve bagged the game. He sees no escape. He will 
force this marriage if he can, to secure himself from 
prosecution from that quarter, and settle with me to 
secure himself in the other way. It has been a long 
game, but I’ve won the odd trick. I’ll soon have a car- 
riage like this myself.” 


266 


VIV/ER. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

MAGNIFICENT AUDACITY. 

W HILE the events narrated in the previous chapters 
were occurring in the lower part of the city, there 
was nervousness and anxiety at the Vivier mansion, 

Ned had successfully introduced Ella into the house, 
under the plea that Ines desired to have her with her, 
and had returned to his apartments to prepare, as he 
hysterically said, for the sacrifice. The two girls, both 
laboring under excitement, served to sustain each other, 
and Mrs. Humphrey, no less agitated, blessed her stars 
that Ella had come into the house, though she had at 
first objected, fearing it would displease the elder Vivier, 
since her labors were lightened thereby. 

Ned had hardly returned from conveying Ella to Ines, 
before Lysaght made his appearance. He had been to 
see whether Mrs. Newton had returned, and had learned 
that she had not been home during the night. He there- 
fore wanted to know whether Ned was advised as to her 
movements. He was gloomy, despondent, and irritable. 
Ned knew no more than he, but was confident as to her 
return. He explained that the nervousness he was sub- 
ject to was the result, not of fear of failure upon the part 
of Mrs. Newton, but as to the ordeal they were all to 
pass through, and the mystery surrounding everything. 

When he had dressed himself, he went with Lysaght 
again to Mrs. Newton’s house. There was yet no news 
of her, and Ned determined that she had gone to the 
house in Madison Square straightway on her return to 
the city. Thither went the two young men, only to 
find she had not been heard of there either. They went 
upstairs into the apartment set apart for the use of Ned, 


MA GN I FI CENT A UDA CIT Y. 267 

and here Lysaght gave expression to the fear by which 
he was possessed. 

“ I knew this cursed mystery would undo us,” he said. 
“ It was folly to suppose anything else. How you could 
have permitted yourself to be so misled I cannot 
understand.” 

Ned had begun to grow anxious, and was losing confi- 
dence. Mrs. Newton had promised to be present not 
later than ten, and it was now considerably after that 
hour. But he kept up a brave face before Lysaght. 

“ No cause for alarm exists yet,” he said. “ You know 
she is to meet father here at eleven, and possibly she 
does not want to reach here before that hour. I have 
intrigued to get him here then. When that hour arrives 
and she is not here, it will be time enough to worry. 
Even then two hours will elapse before it is necessary for 
me to take a decided step, if I must.” 

But eleven o’clock came, and neither Mrs. Newton 
nor Mr. Vivier had arrived. The two young men had 
little conversation to indulge ; they sat listening intently 
to every movement in the house^ starting excitedly at 
every voice. In another part of the house the two girls 
sat beside each other, each clasping the hand of the 
other, trembling with nervous excitement and bidding 
each other to bear up and be strong. Something of this 
suppressed excitement under which the chief figures 
were laboring communicated itself to the servants, all of 
whom were new to the house. There was much running 
up and down of stairs and slamming of doors. Over 
all there was gloomy depression, tempered by the expec- 
tancy of some unusual occurrence. 

As the minutes passed slowly, Ned’s nervousness 
increased and L)^saght’s gloom deepened. Ned began 
to believe that Mrs. Newton had gone to his father’s 


268 


VIVIER. 


office, and that the interview there was the cause of the 
delay of both. Then he thought perhaps she had made 
her appearance at the door, and through some mistake 
had been repulsed. He went downstairs and found no 
one had made application to be admitted. Arriving at 
his room, he was seized by a fear that perhaps his man 
would not know her when she did come, so he went down- 
stairs again to assure himself on that point. In the 
mean time Lysaght bit his mustache in a frenzy of 
gloomy apprehension. 

The moments flew, but with a seeming deliberation to 
all in the hquse little less than torture. Twelve o’clock 
came and there were neither news nor appearances. The 
quarter after came and no change in the situation. It 
was becoming unbearable to all. At half-past, the min- 
ister who was to perform the marriage ceremony arrived. 
His coming increased the gloom. Ned was forcibly 
reminded of a funeral, for the news of the clergyman’s 
arrival was transmitted by whispers. The minister was 
taken to the apartment set aside for his occupancy, and 
a deeper gloom settled upon the house. 

Shortly after a carriage rattled up to the door. Ned 
and Lysaght both leaped to the window in great excite- 
ment. They saw Mr. Vivier descend followed by Wheeler 
with two parcels — “ Wedding presents,” said Ned with a 
gloomy attempt at a joke which ended in a hysterical 
gurgle. And then, to their utter bewilderment, Molleson 
stepped out. 

The two young men gazed at each other, both grow- 
ing pale. 

“ What in Heaven’s name is the meaning of this ? ” 
gasped Ned. 

“It is beyond my comprehension,” faltered Lysaght. 

“ He has betrayed us,” cried Ned. “ Oh, why did we 
ever trust the scamp ? ” 


MA GNIFICENT A UDA CITY. 269 

Lysaght was filled with the same fear, and feeling 
guilty over it, made no reply, but dropped into a chair 
with a dark face. A cold chill ran over Ned, his heart 
throbbed violently a moment, and sank within him. 

Almost immediately a servant rapped at the door 
announcing that the elder Mr. Vivier required the pre- 
sence of the younger in the drawing-room. Ned got up 
from his seat with a ghastly attempt at a smile, and said : 

“ Here goes, Stanley. The break has got to come, 
I’m afraid.” 

He was referring to what he believed to be the be- 
trayal of Molleson. 

“ Yes,” said Lysaght, “ she has failed us, and every- 
thing goes by the board.” 

“ No, I will not believe it. I will go on, as she desired, 
to the last moment that I can .safely. Come down with 
me, Stan.” 

As they entered, the banker nodded approvingly at 
Ned, for he noted he was prepared for the ceremony ; 
at Lysaght with astonishment. 

“ I perceive your friend attends you, Ned,” he said, 
“ I am glad he is here.” 

At this moment Ines entered followed by Mrs. Hum- 
phrey and Ella, and diverted the attention. And well 
she might. For, arrayed in white satin, her fair shoulders 
rivaling the sheen of the fabric, her eyes deep and bright, 
her cheeks red with the suspense she had so long endured, 
she was the picture of a bride the most fastidious might 
have desired to possess. 

The old banker advanced gallantly, taking her by the 
hand, and saying with ceremonious politeness : 

You are a bride to quicken the heart and blood 
of an older man than myself. I shall be proud indeed 
of the fair daughter I receive to-day.” 


viviEn. 


270 

He handed her to a chair and bowed low before her. 
Turning, he saw Ella : 

“ And who may this charming young lady be ? ” 

“ This is Ella Newton,” said Mrs. Humphrey, quickly. 
“ The young lady to whose kindness and thoughtfulness 
we are indebted for care of Ines, who wished her to be 
here to-day.” 

Mr. Vivier bowed ceremoniously to Ella, and taking 
her hand led her to a seat beside Ines, saying : 

“ I have not until now had the opportunity to thank 
you. I am glad this happy chance has afforded me one, 
and I do most sincerely thank you.” 

Ella seated herself beside Ines, awed by the ceremo- 
nious manners of the old banker. 

Molleson, who sat in one corner of the room, was an 
astonished witness, wondering what the banker was up 
to, and where Mrs. Newton was. 

Lysaght slipped over to Ella and asked if she had 
heard from her mother, and received a reply in the neg- 
ative. Ned took a chair near the door, that he might be 
apprised of Mrs. Newton’s coming, and kept an atten- 
tive eye and ear upon it. 

Mr. Vivier, casting a comprehensive glance around the 
room, said : 

“ Ines, my dear, I have a surprise in store for you. I 
have summoned you and Ned here before the ceremony 
to give it. On the 19th of June, 1871, when you were 
about three years old — ” 

“ What game is the old fellow up to ? ” muttered Mol- 
leson, and as a wave of fear swept over him, adding, 
“ By Heaven ! he’ll wriggle out.” 

— “ there came to me in the morning'a gentleman 

who had been my friend from boyhood. His name was 
Stanley Lysaght, an inventor. The day previous he had 


MA GNIFICENT A UDA CITY. 


271 


sold certain inventions for a large sum of money — one 
hundred thousand dollars. He came to me telling me 
that he proposed to- invest it and place it in trust for his 
little girl. He had intended to have three trustees, but 
had changed his mind and would have but one — that one 
myself.” 

The banker looked at Molleson, who was sitting on 
the edge of his chair, listening with strained attention. 

“ The money he had with him in a tin box, which he 
handed me, desiring that I should take it in charge until 
after the papers were made out and it could be properly 
invested. Few knew of the sale. That afternoon he 
died suddenly. Ned, please give me your attention.” 

Ned was whispering to Lysaght, urging him to seek 
Mrs. Newton. 

“ By George ! he is going to wriggle out,” said Molle- 
son audibly. 

“ That man,” continued the banker, “was your father, 
Ines, and the little girl yourself.” 

As interesting as this might naturally be supposed to 
be to Lysaght, he heard it but vaguely. His thoughts 
were upon Mrs. Newton. Shifting about upon his chair, 
every moment consulting his watch and the faces of Ned 
and Ines, his anxiety was pitiful to behold. Ned was no 
less nervous and excited, and though compelled to give 
the appearance of attention to his father, his senses were 
acutely alive to the slightest noise outside. 

“You will naturally ask,” continued the banker, “Why, 
if your name is Lysaght, you should be called Alloway?” 

The banker paused to perceive the effect of his words 
on Ines, and to his astonishment she was apparently 
giving little heed. Her eyes were traveling from Ned to 
Lysaght as if she would read their faces, while an expres- 
sion of the utmost anxiety rested upon her face. 


272 


VIVIER. 


“ Do you understand me, my dear,” said the banker. 

“ Yes, sir,” she meekly replied. 

“ Well, you seem less astonished at being some one 
else than I could have supposed. The reason why I 
changed your name is this : Knowing that your father 
had not had time to make provision before his death, and 
fearing that his relatives, whom he had discarded, would 
endeavor to seize the property and the loss and waste 
there might be over the struggle, I determined, irregular 
as it might appear, to say nothing of my possession of 
the funds, and to assume without ceremony the duties of 
the trusteeship I knew it was his desire to impose upon 
me. Consequently, I invested the money for you, and in 
order to escape from the annoyance of questions and of 
making explanations of the irregularity, I changed your 
name and placed you in charge of this good woman. I 
think the world will say on examination that I have done 
my duty to an old and dear friend. Wheeler, open that 
larger package.” 

Ines had begun to realize that the questions she had 
so often asked herself as to her own history were being 
answered, but in the failure of Mrs. Newton’s coming 
they were not so important as they had seemed to her. 
She did not comprehend that she was a cousin of Lysaght 
the artist. Neither did the others seem to have that 
interest which the peculiar revelation should have created, 
except Molleson, who fell back in his chair, saying 
audibly : 

“ He has wriggled out.” 

The banker took the box in his hand, saying : 

“ This is the same tin box your father brought to me. 
In it are the securities in which I invested the money. 
You will find I have managed the estate well. What 
was $100,000 has grown to be nearly $300,000. You will 


JlfA GNIFICENT A UDA CITY. 


273 


also find a careful statement of the management. Now, 
as you are about to take a husband, I yield up my stew- 
ardship, and,” — he turned fiercely upon Molleson, who 
was leaning back in his chair as pale as a ghost, — “ let 
him who can make wrong of it do so. I defy the world.” 

Mr. Vivier was too much interested in the manner in 
which he was for the second time that day crushing Mol- 
leson to observe the lack of interest the others mani- 
fested. Molleson muttered as he looked at him : 

“ This is the audacity of genius. He has turned a 
criminal act into a deed of benevolence.” 

“You understand, Mr. Lysaght,” said Mr. Vivier, 
“ that this charming young lady, who is soon to be my 
daughter-in-law, is your cousin. I hope you approve my 
management ? ” 

“Very charming — very beautiful,” said Lysaght, look- 
ing at his watch and at the door. 

“ Which ? ” laughed the banker. — “ The young lady or 
my management ? ” 

“ Oh, ah ! both,” replied the artist, rising and going to 
Ned, saying : 

“ My God, Ned, where is this woman ?” 

“ Heaven knows ! I begin to fear she has failed us.” 

Ines only partly comprehended what had been revealed; 
she too was filled with a nervous anxiety, almost sickening. 

“ Wheeler,” said the banker, still standing in the center 
of the room, where he had crushed Molleson, “ you may 
retain possession of these securities until you can hand 
them to Mrs. Edmund Vivier. It will not be long now. 
The hour of one passed some time ago. Mrs. Hum- 
phrey, will you call the minister ?” 

By this time all hope was gone to Ella, Ines, Lysaght 
and Ned ; the three were certain that the rupture with 
his father Ned so much dreaded was about to occur. 


274 


VIVIER. 


The clergyman entered the room in his robes and took 
his position between the windows, facing those gathered 
there. 

Ned turned pale and glanced hopelessly at Lysaght. 
Perceiving he did not move, his father crossed to him 
and whispered : 

“ For Heaven’s sake, Ned, gather your senses. Give 
your arm to Ines.” 

Ned got up slowly, and, crossing the room, offered his 
arm to Ines, and as he did so, he said loud enough for 
Ella to hear : 

“ Courage, I will go as far as I can, and if Mrs. 
Newton does not come, I will declare we cannot be 
married.” 

As Ines rose to take the proffered arm of Ned, Lysaght 
started up as if to prevent it, when Ella quickly waved 
him back. 

Ned led Ines to the clergyman waiting to receive them. 
He opened his book and was about to begin, when there 
was the sound of a furiously driven carriage stopping 
suddenly, a bustle, a thundering knock at the door, and 
before it was fairly recognized, the door was flung open 
by Lysaght, and there appeared Mrs. Newton. 

She took in the situation in a hasty glance, crying : 

“ Stop ! I forbid this marriage.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

TOPPLING FAIR SCHEMES. 

T here was a cry of “ Thank God,” from Lysaght as 
he sank into a chair. Every one had started to their 
feet, and Ella had rushed to her mother, clasping her 
hand, while Dick stood upon the other side, 


TOPPLING FAIR SCHEMES. 275 

Who is this woman ? ” demanded Mr. Vivier, angrily. 

‘‘ Nemesis ! ” cried Molleson, with a laugh. 

“ My name is Newton ; I forbid this marriage in the 
name of decency and the law.” 

“ Are you crazy ? For what reason, woman ?” asked 
Vivier. 

“A man may not marry his sister,” said Mrs. Newton 
firmly. 

Molleson laughed aloud with a mocking laugh. 

“ She is a lunatic,” cried the banker, fairly beside him- 
self. “ Turn her out.”- 

“ No, sir, you will not do that,” replied Lysaght. “ She 
is as sane as you.” 

“ Woman,” said the clergyman, who had advanced 
into the center of the room. Be careful. If you can 
substantiate your words; this ceremony cannot be per- 
performed. And it will not be until your charge has 
been examined.” 

Utterly bewildered by this turn, Ines clung to the arm 
of Ned, trembling with fear and excitement. 

“ That girl called Ines Alloway,” said Mrs. Newton, 
pointing to her, and with most deliberate utterance, “ is 
the daughter of James Vivier and Leila Carman, born 
out of wedlock, but yet the half-sister of young Mr. Vivier.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! ” mocked Molleson. “ The odd trick is 
mine after all.” 

Here,” continued Mrs. Newton, “ is Mary Lysaght, 
daughter of Stanley Lysaght.” 

She led Ella, blushing, dazed and happy, to Ned, 
who dropped Ines’s arm to give place to the artist. 

“ Me,” cried Ella. 

“ Ella ! ” cried Ned. 

“ It’s a lie ! ” shouted the banker. “ A black lie. My 
child has been dead for years.” 


276 


VIVIER. 


“ You are mistaken,” coldly replied Mrs Newton. 
“ Here are the proofs ; examine them yourself.” She 
placed a package of papers in the hands of the banker. 
“ You will find they cannot be denied.” 

Then addressing the clergyman, she continued : 

“ Sir, I cannot make this announcement, without con- 
fessing a wrong on my own part. Leila Carman, the 
mother of this girl, is my sister, my youngest sister, one 
who brought disgrace on a virtuous family. Years ago 
she brought her child to me, promising to mend her ways 
and begging me to bring her up in ignorance' of her 
parentage. That is the one, and I adopted it as my 
own. Afterwards she brought another child that she had 
taken charge of as the orphan of Stanley Lysaght. But 
being about to marry she wanted me to take charge of it 
too. That was Ella, here, — properly, Mary Lysaght. 
It was but a temporary charge, and in due time demand 
was made for her by a lawyer named Harper. And I, 
who had found I could not look upon Leila’s child without 
being reminded of her mother’s shame and the disgrace 
of our family, conceived the wicked idea of giving up 
Ines as the daughter of Stanley Lysaght. I did so, and 
Ines was reared by this good lady in ignorance of her 
parentage — of her identity, while Ella — Mary Lysaght — 
was brought up as my own child. When by a strange 
combination of circumstances Ella brought Ines to my 
house a few days ago, and I afterwards learned she was 
supposed to be the daughter of the inventor Lysaght, I 
determined to prevent this proposed marriage in the 
name of decency, and to reveal the truth.” 

“ You have done your duty,” replied the clergy- 
man. 

“ It is true,” cried Mr. Vivier, who had been examin- 
ing the papers placed in his hands by Mrs, Newton, 


TOPPLING FAIR SCHEMES. 277 

“ The proofs are indisputable. Why did you not come 
to me with this before ? ” 

“ I had nothing but my own statement until this morn- 
ing,” she replied. “ I have labored unceasingly since I 
knew the facts. An accident to the train I was traveling 
on this morning delayed me, and I was in an agony of 
fear I would come too late.” 

Mr. Vivier, sincerely shocked over the narrow escape, 
said : 

“ Had you but intimated the dreadful state of affairs, 
I would have waited for proofs.” 

Molleson again laughed his mocking laugh. 

The banker turned fiercely upon him. 

“ You and I are to settle, sir.” 

“ Yes. We are to settle. This is a key that unlocks 
so many things that it will be a long settlement. Good- 
afternoon, Mr. Vivier. I will call upon you to settle to- 
morrow morning. Mr. Vivier, Jr., I congratulate you 
upon your escape. Mrs. Newton has been your good 
friend. Mr. Lysaght, I congratulate you that you can 
now marry the bride of your choice. Good-afternoon, 
Mr. Vivier. At ten to-morrow morning at your office. 
Don’t fail me. The odd trick is mine.” 

He disappeared through the door. 

“ Love,” said Lysaght to Ines, who did not yet com- 
prehend everything, but felt that in sonie way in* the 
revelations made she was in disgrace, “ Love, it has been 
dark weather and an anxious night through which we 
have passed. But the sun has risen. Thank God, you 
are mine now ! ” 

“ You — you would take me after all this ? ” she faltered. 

“ Take you ? ” he replied, beaming his love upon her. 
“ Yes, and bless my fortune which gives you to me. Mr. 
Vivier,” he said, turning to the banker. I presume the 


278 


VIVIER. 


disposal of this lady’s hand will be claimed by you as a 
right, I ask it, sir. We love one another.” 

The banker looked gloomily at the two standing before 
him. He had not yet recovered from the effects of the 
revelations, and was disturbed over Molleson’s words. 

“ It is the best disposal,” he muttered. “ Do you love 
this young man, Ines ? ” he asked. 

Ines blushingly murmured as Lysaght would desire. 

“ Then I give my consent, sir,” said he to Lysaght. 
“ I shall not forget she is my daughter.” 

He turned to leave the room. As he did so, he was 
confronted by Ned with Ella upon his arm. 

“Father,” he said. “ Do not go yet. I am waiting 
patiently to marry the daughter of Stanley Lysaght. It 
is your desire. Mine also. You have given me a sister 
to-day, I desire to present you with another daughter.” 

The banker looked down upon the pair — upon the 
blushing, sweet, and modest face of Ella, who shyly 
lifted her eyes to the father of her lover. 

Never in all his life had the banker been proof against 
a pretty face. 

“ Ned,” he said smilingly, “ this looks very much like 
a conspiracy against me.” 

“ No, sir,” replied his son. “ I loved Ella, and Stan 
Ines. But we saw no way of escaping from your iron 
win, until Mrs. Newton told us to do nothing to thwart 
you, but to place implicit trust in her. We have done 
so, and here is the result.” 

“ Well, I’m routed, horse, foot, and dragoons. I sur- 
render, — have your way.” 

“ Then, sir,” said Ned, “ since such of us as are here 
were called to witness the ceremony of marriage between 
Edmund Vivier and the daughter of Stanley Lysaght, 
let it proceed.” 


TOPPLING FAIR SCHEMES. 279 

“ What, now ? ” protested Ella. “ Oh, mother ! To 
think, mother dear.” 

“ Let us seize our opportunity,” urged Ned. “ Let us 
take no more risks.” 

He led her, partly resisting, to the clergyman, and 
said, “ Proceed, sir.” 

“ Does the young lady consent ? ” asked the divine. 

“ She consents,” said Ned, boldly. “ It is her modesty 
and maidenly shyness that protests. Proceed, sir.” 

“ Proceed, sir,” echoed the father. “ So bold a wooer 
should not be denied.” 

“ And since the consent has been obtained, wed us, 
too,” said Lysaght, bringing the unresisting Ines to the 
side of Ned. “ It shall be a double wedding. It is 
proper, we were called here to see Ines wed.” 

A few solemn and beautiful words — pledges made, 
vows taken, manly responses, and timid though none the 
less sincere ones, and Ned and Lysaght found their hopes 
realized, their loves gratified, after weeks of sore trouble 
and perplexity. 

As they turned from the clergyman, Wheeler, the 
clerk, who had sat a silent and astonished witness of the 
swift and exciting events, stepped up to Ella and said : 

‘‘ I am instructed to give these $300,000 to Mrs. 
Edmund Vivier.” 

The banker started forward with a word of protest, 
but checked himself, saying : 

“ True ; they belong to her. Wheeler, that was neat. 
I’ll ask your promotion.” 

Mrs. Newton, with tears running down her face, kissed 
first Ella and then Ines. 

“ Do you forgive me, Ella ? I have tried to be a good 
mother to you.” 

“ And you have, mother dear. You will never be any- 


28 o 


VIVIER. 


thing else to me. I will never think of you in any other 
way.” 

“ Don’t ask me to forgive you,” said Ines, impulsively, 
“ for I have nothing to forgive. I only ask that you will 
give to me as your niece some of that love you have 
given to Ella, who is not of your blood.” 

The banker had joined them, and he said to Mrs. New- 
ton : 

“ My heart was full of bitterness for you a moment 
ago, but now, of profound thankfulness that you arrested 
this marriage. You have done your duty now, whatever 
may have been your course in previous years. These 
marriages to-day are the best dispositions of unhappy 
complications. These children shall in the future be my 
care, as an atonement for my acts.” 

He turned from them and left the house. 

The odd trick must have been the winning trick, for 
Molleson toils not, neither does he spin, yet he dwells in 
a well-appointed house in Harlem, where the diamonds 
are always displayed ; he now represents his- district 
in the Legislature, bringing his acute and logical mind 
to consideration of problems of state ; he is addressed as 
Honorable. 

Surely, the odd trick must have been the winning 
trick. 


THE END. 












•• --v-i 


/ 



KJL^ajZ* il' - ». »*■* c ' -• ^.- »• 



*“1 '**/ f/* ^ 

-’ .V * « •*/ , - V ^. ■ 


■ ‘ ■* ■ ■ • t • r>' *1 

7 . ’ 

•^•' 'i. • *>ir '•- 


^1 • - . 


/■ "■ .V- •:>■■ ■ '-■• ■ 


f 



*, / # < V 4 • 

,V* 4.'K V . . 

- T . ■>• . > . • 










V%. 




< » 


• ‘ « 


» . 







t---h . . 'Y '••• . 3 :'\ 

'.. . ■' '■« : 'Ml ■^. .'• ■- . ■ .r' , - V V* 


V 









.■ > V*- 







, > 


^ '• 


> *» 





0 * A 

' ■ :, • ’-^ ^ 

.:J> 2 

■’ • /ft: 

1 A 


♦ 1 

« • « 

• • • 

* SR? 

« • / 1 • 



u 








V.v' .';.-if4> 





T > 






X '•- 




^ '"*1® 




gS^r-iv ^ \ ;^* . . '-^ . . ' 


*• 



‘ r * 


V ■ 


0 » * . % •- ' 






j;^4fvV ^ ^ 


\ 






ft 









f;,' . ’■ •. 

%, »-'• v ' 


r3rf^i'5>?.^-^' • .- ^*J V *" • 


PTT ^.'^ .■ T . .'■^' 

P«\ :' \i ’ V\ . N . 

i.* y^<* •••’ V ’• ' r>. 



'''.•'• iKv'-. 

li'" rf'i '1 '-;. • ' -’-^'iiflH 

(rTi .X It.- - • •' 





..'T .' •>’ ' 





' " >, *^ ' i *^^. 

Ti; 


> /.*• * ,-» 
- ,.7 J 

> A ^.. 


> ' _ ♦ l<» 


‘ ■ i?' '• " 

■ 


; 



-Vc V •• * I * r 


4<'.' 









V- ‘ » ■ 






■; >. - > V;J^ 


s 

4 


♦> • . 

♦ 

•' •>/ 





































library of congress 


.■: 1 :! 

V V..' . t.v\ . V.- K'N'' v-.’ 




‘. JXvVXXXXX s^': .^Xn':- 




■'\Vv\\\> 



